Bachelor's Puzzle

by Judith Pella

  “Like you said, that’s his job.”

  Just then some laughter rose briefly above the din of voices.

  Maggie glanced around and saw it had come from Colby. He was talking to Ellie and seemed to be enjoying himself. Now that Ellie was no longer interested in the minister, did that mean she was going back to Colby? All the more reason for me to get the minister, Maggie thought bitterly.

  “Now, there’s the worst of the lot,” Tommy said.

  “Huh?” Maggie had all but forgotten his presence, blinded as she had been by Colby’s light.

  “That Colby Stoddard. You know, I seen him the other day in town, and I said, ‘Hey, Colby,’ and he walked right past me as if I wasn’t even there. You better tell your sister that just because he’s a pretty boy don’t mean he’s worth spit.”

  Maybe some of what Tommy said was true, but she still believed there was more to Colby than met the eye. She would have liked a chance to find out for sure.

  Ellie smiled at Colby’s raucous laughter, though inwardly she thought he seemed to be trying too hard to appear casual and careless. He didn’t have to try to be those things, for she’d always thought them his nature. He must be feeling insecure about something. Was it because he’d had his first look at the new minister?

  Ellie had to admit Reverend L ocklin was every bit as handsome as Colby. She glanced toward the schoolhouse door. The reverend was standing alone quietly observing the visiting people. He turned his head slightly, and she quickly jerked her gaze away. She felt she had been doing that all day, trying to steal covert looks at the minister. She didn’t know why she kept wanting to look at him. Or why she had in the last three days constantly caught herself thinking about him.

  He was good-looking and quite personable, but she wasn’t certain about his talent as a minister. He had not handled the service very smoothly. His sermon had been good enough, though he had obviously memorized it and repeated it by rote. She had sensed no real passion in his words, almost as if they weren’t his words at all. Of course she reminded herself that he had no doubt been very nervous. He would need time to warm up to the task. Perhaps he would appreciate some constructive criticism. All he had heard after the service was how wonderful it was. No one would risk offending him with the truth, yet how else would he ever learn?

  Maybe she should speak to her father about it. He would know the best way to handle the matter, and perhaps he might even wish to venture forth with some honest words of evaluation for him. More than likely Reverend L ocklin would appreciate some criticism because surely he would wish to improve. Perhaps she could work it into another conversation she wanted to have with the minister. Since her return from finishing school she had been thinking of starting a Sunday school for the children but had never had a chance to speak with Pastor McFarland about it. Now would be the perfect time to introduce her idea.

  Just then Mabel Parker sallied up to the minister. Ellie found her teeth gritting suddenly, so she swung her attention back to Colby where it belonged. I t was terrible to have all this flirtatiousness present on Sunday. That was no doubt why Grandma Newcomb thought it was unseemly for a church to have an unmarried minister. Ellie decided this wasn’t the right time to speak with the pastor—everyone would think that she, too, was just flirting.

  Ellie’s mother also probably had the right idea about getting the man married off as soon as possible. Then everyone could concentrate on their Christian faith. Perhaps Ellie ought to help promote Mabel’s cause. Then she thought about Maggie and how she was suddenly determined to catch the minister.

  Ellie didn’t have a good feeling about that. Maggie was too young and of the wrong temperament to be a pastor’s wife.

  That was why Ellie couldn’t support her sister. I t had nothing to do with jealousy.

  ELEVEN

  On Tuesday William L ocklin’s trunk arrived at the Maintown post office. Zack borrowed the Copelands’ buckboard to pick it up. He was in the post office, which adjoined the little store, when he noticed a head of brown curly hair bobbing above a shelf of cookery. Finishing his arrangements with the agent, Zack headed into the store.

  “I thought that was you,” he said to the owner of the curly brown hair.

  Maggie Newcomb smiled. “Hi, Reverend. I got to get my mama some thread. This store doesn’t carry much in general, but with all the stitchers around here, they do keep plenty of thread.”

  “I’ve come to pick up my trunk,” Zack said.

  “So it arrived after all?”

  “I guess I worried for nothing.”

  Mrs. Brown, the postmaster’s wife who kept the store, turned back to the counter with a handful of spools. “What color did your mother want, Maggie?”

  “Something dark is all she said.”

  Maggie didn’t appear pleased that she would have to choose between several dark threads.

  With a shrug, she pointed to the one in the middle. “That’ll do.”

  “Last time you bought your mother thread she had to come back to return it.” There was a slightly censorious quality to the woman’s tone.

  “Then you’d think she’d learn her lesson sending me,” Maggie countered as she plopped her nickel on the counter and plucked the spool from Mrs. Brown’s hand.

  The woman mumbled something about respect as she dropped the money into a cash box and gave Maggie her change.

  With a roll of her pretty green eyes, Maggie gave another shrug. Together, she and Zack exited the store.

  “Say, Reverend, now that you have all your things, maybe you’d be able to spare something for my mother to alter.I know she’d be happy to do it.”

  Zack hesitated because once L ocklin’s things were altered, they would become more and more Zack’s. But with all the good food he’d been fed these last few days, the need was becoming rather urgent, and he certainly could not afford to buy anything new.

  “Yes, I’ll get some things ready,” he said.

  “Well, aren’t you leaving in a couple of days for your circuit? If you give me something now, it could be ready by the time you get back.”

  “Well . . .”

  “Your trunk’s right here. No time like the present.”

  Indeed, Zack noted that the agent had carried the trunk out to the wagon. Still, he hesitated. He was reluctant to get his first look at L ocklin’s belongings in front of anyone. Who knew what was in that trunk? Yet logic told him L ocklin couldn’t have anything too awfully suspicious.

  He strode to the trunk perched in the back of the wagon, but as he reached for the fasteners, he suddenly realized it could be locked. How could he explain not having a key? Unfortunately, his hands moved faster than his mind, and he gripped the clasp and gave it a tug before he could stop himself. Much to his surprise, it flew open. The trusting minister had seen no need to lock the thing. Right on the top was a black broadcloth suit identical to the one in the carpetbag. He pulled it out and quickly shut the lid.

  “Let’s start with this,” he said, thrusting the suit toward Maggie.

  “My mother is going to need you as well as the suit—you know, for measurements,” Maggie said.

  “That’s right.”

  “Do you have time now?”

  “I suppose I do.” Zack saw no use in fighting the situation any further. “I’ll follow you in the buckboard.”

  “I walked.”

  “Then climb aboard, andI’ll give you a ride.”

  Reaching the Newcomb house, Zack left the wagon in the yard with the horses still hitched. He figured the measuring shouldn’t take too long. Maggie led the way into the house. Mrs. Newcomb was in the kitchen peeling potatoes. She greeted him cheerfully as she put down her work, dried her hands on her apron, and shook his hand. Ellie was sitting by the hearth stitching. She also greeted Zack pleasantly but with a detached air about her.

  “I’d be happy to do your alterations,” Mrs. Newcomb said after Maggie explained the reason for the impromptu visit.

  While Mag
gie sat at the kitchen table observing, Mrs. Newcomb gathered various supplies, then took the suit and examined it.

  “This shouldn’t be too difficult,” she said. “Of course, it’s harder to let out than take in. But there is a generous seam allowance, and elsewhere putting in a gusset or two should do the trick. But whatever prompted you to purchase suits that are easily a size too small for you?”

  Zack decided the earlier explanation he’d given the girls about being thinner when he got them wasn’t going to be enough for Mrs. Newcomb. “Well, Mrs. Newcomb, I am embarrassed to admit my impoverished background.”

  “Pride goes before a fall, Pastor,” Mrs. Newcomb said. “You should know that.”

  “It has always been a thorn in my flesh.I am working on it, however.” He offered a smile begging for her sufferance.

  “When I was in seminary I had a classmate who was better heeled than I but perhaps not as determined in the profession of the ministry. He finally decided to drop out, but not before he’d already invested in two somber suits more . . . ah . . . suited to the calling of Christ than to the life he wished to embark upon. I was in need of proper suits but without the means to buy new. He offered me an excellent price, which I could not refuse, though even then they were a bit snug.”

  “What about your other clothes, Reverend?” Maggie asked.

  Zack groaned silently. That girl was sharp. He was going to have to keep an eye on her.

  “Again,I could never afford clothing tailored specifically for me.I took castoffs from friends and bought secondhand clothing to meet my needs.” He didn’t want to appear too quick with ready answers, so he shrugged. “I suppose I have never cared overly much about my appearance.” To Mrs. Newcomb he said, “I am happy they are salvageable.”

  “I’ll have to take measurements,” she said.

  “Of course.”

  She hesitated a moment, then awkwardly asked, “Could you remove your jacket?”

  He did so. The jacket was his own, and it fit decently, but its removal revealed that the blue cotton shirt under it was so tight, the buttons were nearly popping off.

  “Please hold out your arms?” Mrs. Newcomb asked.

  She picked up her tape measure and held it along the length of one of his arms, careful to keep it about two inches away from touching him. Throughout the process she was very careful not to touch him, and once when she did accidentally bump him, she apologized profusely. When it came time to measure for the fit of the trousers, she became extremely flustered. Zack had the feeling she was not a woman to flinch easily, and he felt sorry for her.

  Finally she said to her daughters, “Maggie, Ellie, don’t you have chores to do outside?” Maggie started to protest, but Mrs. Newcomb said firmly, “Maggie, you have weeding to do in the garden. And Ellie, take your stitching outside and take advantage of the better light. Now, scoot!”

  With a little grumbling on Maggie’s part, the girls obeyed. Obviously, Mrs. Newcomb didn’t want an audience for the task ahead, much less her impressionable daughters.

  She finished the job as quickly as possible, carefully writing down her measurements on a scrap of paper so she would not have to take them again. Zack was both amused and sympathetic. Maybe it would have been better for her if she had known he was not a “holy man” but just some coarse drifter. He was as relieved as she was when the thing was done.

  “I’ll have these ready for you when you get back from your circuit,” she said. “And if you have anything else, feel free to send it over.”

  “Thank you. Perhaps I can leave some shirts and trousers with Mrs. Copeland for one of your children to pick up next time they are in town?”

  “That is an excellent idea.I know you must have much to do before leaving. Calvin has been busy preparing, as well.”

  “I am thankful you can spare your husband for a few days to help me find my way and introduce me around.”

  “Well, the crops are in, and he can afford to miss a few days at the sawmill, thanks to God’s blessings. I know he’s looking forward to the trip. He has a brother in Columbia City we don’t often see.”

  Zack bid Mrs. Newcomb good afternoon and stepped out onto the porch. He first noted that Maggie was nowhere to be seen. He enjoyed her company and wouldn’t have minded spending a little more time with her. He turned and saw Ellie seated on a rocker at the end of the porch. He had turned quickly enough to catch her gazing at him. Her cheeks grew pink.

  “Reverend L ocklin,” she said, acknowledging him, poised despite her discomfiture.

  “Hello, Ellie.”

  She smiled a greeting and then looked back at her sewing in a way that seemed almost dismissive. But Zack wasn’t one to be easily dismissed. He walked closer to her and leaned against the porch rail in a comfortable manner that indicated he wasn’t going to be leaving anytime soon.

  “Looks like you are enjoying yourself,” he said with a nod toward the sewing.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “You do very good work,” he said, not letting himself get frustrated with having the entire responsibility for the conversation. “The piece you made for my quilt is truly marvelous.”

  Her eyes jerked up. “You remember which one I made?”

  He liked that his comment had taken her by surprise. “The one with the house and tree. I n fact, now that I think about it,I believe you made the actual front of your house and that tree yonder.I t’s just like it. Except the dog isn’t in the yard today.”

  “Gypsy is off with Dad.”

  “You are very talented,” Zack said. “I’ve seen pictures of famous artwork, you know, by people like Michelangelo, Rembrandt, and such. What you do with cloth is art like that.”

  “That’s a bit much, Reverend!” Her cheeks turned even more pink.

  “I don’t suppose I could get you to call me William?”

  “That would not be proper,” she said shortly.

  “It’s funny that it is all right for me to call you Ellie, but because I’m’m the minister, you can’t use my given name. That’s a rule I don’t like much.”

  “I don’t know what to say, ReverendL ocklin.” She put special emphasis on his title and surname as she spoke them. He thought that if he weren’tL ocklin, if he were just himself, she’d have no problem calling him Zack. But then he had that niggling sense there was more to it than propriety.

  “Do you dislike me, Ellie?” he asked suddenly.

  “No, of course not! What would give you that idea?”

  “Everyone but you seems to go out of their way to be friendly to me.”

  “Does everyone have to like you?”

  “Ah, ha! So you don’t like me?”

  “That’s not what I said.I just . . . it’s just that . . . you are . . . I mean—” She broke off, looking more flustered than her mother had when she’d had to slip that tape measure around his waist.

  He realized he was enjoying the moment, especially because she was a lot prettier when some of the frost had melted away from her.

  “You know, Ellie,” he said with just the right touch of sincerity, “I don’t need everyone to like me, only those who are of admirable quality.I think you are the kind of person whose esteem I would greatly regard.”

  “Thank you, Reverend.”

  When she said no more, he found he had to initiate conversation once again. “Tell me about what you are making.”

  “Oh, it’s nothing special.I don’t even think it has a real name.I t’s just a diamond mosaic. I’ve’ve been working on it for years whenever I have a free moment.”

  She turned her work so he could see better. I t was a series of hexagon shapes sewed together so that it did take on the shape of a diamond. There was a darker hexagon in the center surrounded by a number of light-colored hexagons, each one made out of a different print. This was then surrounded by a number of darker hexagons.

  “It really does look like a diamond. Did you make up the design yourself?”

  “No, it’s an old p
attern.I t goes by other names, such as mosaic and honeycomb. My grandma in Deer I sland has a similar quilt that I am copying, except for the colors. Hers is really beautiful, in dark and light blues.” She became surprisingly animated as she talked about her work. “I couldn’t get enough to do just one color, so I have many colors.I trade scraps with other ladies to get a variety and my grandmother lets me raid her scrap box when I visit. I’ve got fifty diamonds done.”

  “And they will all be connected together eventually to make a blanket?”

  “I’ll connect them with more hexagons, maybe green, but I’m not sure yet.”

  “How will you know when to stop?”

  She laughed. “Last time Mama looked she thought I had plenty. But then I find another scrap I think would be pretty and decide to make just one more.I t started out as a doll quilt when I was nine. Soon it will generously cover a four-poster.”

  “And you never get bored doing it?” This truly amazed Zack. He was never one to stick long with anything, preferring always to move on to something new.

  “Well, I have finished other quilts in that time.I’ve’ve got eleven quilts in my hope chest.”

  “Eleven quilts? That seems like a lot.”

  “They’re not all quilted yet.”

  “What are you going to do with so many?”

  “Quilts are always needed,” she replied. “Eleven does seem like a lot, but I have one more to go until . . .” She paused, her cheeks pinking once again. “Well, Mama suggested I make twelve.I t was a tradition when she was young for a girl to make twelve quilts for her wedding.” She seemed to get hold of herself and continued. “Anyway, I always seem to return to my hexagons.I don’t know, maybe I ’ll never finish because I so enjoy making them.”

  “It seems to indicate an admirable quality in you, like faithfulness or loyalty,” he said.

  They were quiet for a few moments. Ellie appeared uncomfortable receiving compliments. Then she went on, “Reverend, I’m glad we’ve had this chance to talk.”

  “Then you no longer dislike me?”

  “I didn’t dislike you in the first place.” Pausing, she seemed hesitant to continue. She looked at the work in her lap and then finally back up at him. “I have a confession to make.”