Chastity's Angel

by Linda Ford

  The words fell into silence. Her mother plucked up the tiny angel and again rubbed her finger back and forth over it. After a moment she asked, "What do you want?"

  Chastity searched for the right words—a way of expressing her desires without making her mother think she was unhappy with the current situation. "I think, most of all, I want to be sure I don't make a decision that would leave me having to make the best of things. I'm content to leave things in God's hands for His will and His timing."

  Her mother clasped Chastity's hand. "Chastity, I expect you're talking about my life when you talk of making the best of things. I admit I made a rather big mistake in my youth, and to some it looks as if my life has been relegated to making do, but I don't see it that way. I never have. I feel privileged. After all, I had a firsthand experience with an angel. It turned my life around full circle and gave it meaning above and beyond the ordinary."

  Chastity was silent. She'd heard it before. She knew her mother believed life had given her a special bequest. But it wasn't enough for Chastity. She wanted more. Or, as she had said to Michael, less.

  "I never meant to raise you to be afraid of risks."

  Chastity stared at her mother. "What do you mean?"

  "I suppose I'm thinking of Adam. I wouldn't want you to turn him aside simply because of the risks such a relationship carries."

  Chastity tried to assess her mother's words in light of her feelings about Adam—and Michael. Taking risks was one thing, but throwing everything away recklessly was something else. Besides, it was all a pointless discussion. It was Michael she was fond of—surely love would grow with time. It was Michael who shared a desire for the same sort of life she wanted.

  "Are you suggesting Adam might be in love with me? Because if you are, you can put your mind at ease. We are worlds apart. Besides, there's Michael."

  "Yes, of course, Michael. Has he given you cause for hope?"

  Chastity chuckled at her mother's phrasing. Although he hadn't said he loved her or asked her to marry him, he had given her cause for hope. "Yes, Mother, he has."

  "Well, he's certainly a solid, steady man. And if that's what you're looking for..." Her voice trailed off on a thread of doubt.

  "It's what I want—a life that is steady and predictable."

  Mother smiled. "Then I can only wish you happiness—whatever you decide." She reached for the Bible. "I rest assured God will direct your steps in the way that is best."

  Chastity whispered, "That is my prayer too."

  Mother read several verses before turning to Chastity. "Let's pray together about your future."

  Chastity let her mother's soft prayer brush clean the hidden corners of her soul like a warm Chinook wind blowing away the accumulated dirt and dust of winter.

  Taking with her a fresh settledness, she kissed her mother and hurried to her own room to open her Bible and study the name written on the piece of paper, Simon LaBlanc. What would it have been like to have a father?

  On Sunday morning Chastity set a tray with coffee and toast on the bed beside her mother. "I wish you could come to church."

  "I do too, ma cherie, but I couldn't possibly walk that far." She smiled her reassurance. "Now don't you fret about it. Maybe you could mention to Pastor Simpson I'd like to see him when it's convenient." She waved a hand. "Don't look like that. I only want some spiritual refreshment."

  "I'll ask him to call."

  A few minutes later, she and Michael strolled down the sun-dappled street toward the church. Nothing special happened. Nothing of significance was said. Yet when they stepped through the double doors into the sanctuary, Chastity felt as though a sweet bond had been forged. She let Michael lead her to a pew. He sat close enough that their elbows touched. Warmth centered in a place behind Chastity's heart.

  Emma caught her attention across the room and lifted her hand in greeting. Beside her sat a red-haired, pink-faced youth Chastity had never seen before. Then her attention was diverted to the pew in front of them.

  "Good morning, Chastity." At Adam's warm greeting, she looked up to see the Silverhorn family filing into the pew. Adam was directly in front of her. It was impossible not to notice how his hair—sun-bleached on the ends—curled along his neck. Jack sat at his side, and Adam leaned over to mouth something in his ear, every movement so quick and graceful that, despite herself, Chastity found pleasure in watching him.

  He turned to face her, and she clenched her hands in a vain attempt to stop the guilty heat from rushing up her cheeks.

  "I thought your mother would be here."

  She shook her head. "It's too far to walk, and we don't own a buggy or any means of transportation."

  "I see." His brow furrowed. "I expect she misses going to church."

  "Yes, I'm afraid she does."

  Michael said nothing, but the pressure increased along her arm where they were touching.

  Pastor Simpson took his place behind the pulpit and called for the first hymn. Chastity couldn't help thinking how symbolic it was that she and Michael were joined together by the hymnbook they both clasped. It spoke of so many things they had in common: their faith, their contentment in a quiet life, even their love of teaching children.

  Then Pastor Simpson announced the title of his sermon, "The Steps of a Good Man Are Ordered by the Lord," and Chastity's attention was riveted on the message.

  A short while later, she left the service with her heart lighter, her convictions strengthened. Thus far the Lord has led me, she reminded herself. He would surely keep her on the right path.

  Emma stopped Chastity at the doorway, pulling her aside. "Did you see him?"

  "I assume," Chastity said, chuckling, "you mean the young man beside you."

  Emma grinned. "Remember the old codger cousin of the Simpsons' we were going to meet?"

  Chastity smiled. "I'm guessing he wasn't so old after all."

  "Not a bit old. His name is Gordon Simpson. He's from down east but wants to move west." She grabbed Chastity's hand. "Come and meet him."

  Chastity allowed herself to be dragged to the blushing young man. As she turned to rejoin Michael, she came face to face with Adam.

  "Don't forget my opening show tomorrow."

  "I'm looking forward to it."

  And surprisingly she was. His work, whether photos, paintings, or sketches, had the power to flood her senses with color and emotion. Which did not explain the alarm ringing up and down her spine at Adam's nearness.

  "I promised your mother I would bring her more photos to look at. Tell her I haven't forgotten."

  Chastity nodded. "I will." And she hurried to Michael's side.

  Outside in the warm sunshine Michael asked, "What did Adam have to say?"

  Surprised at his sharp tone, Chastity said in her calmest voice, "He reminded me he's having his first display tomorrow, and he wanted me to tell Mother he hadn't forgotten his promise to visit her again."

  "I suppose that's decent of him."

  It was said so grudgingly that Chastity giggled. "I suppose it is, though I don't think Mother would want to hear it put quite that way."

  Michael had the grace to laugh at himself. "I was rather condescending, wasn't I? I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be."

  She tucked his apology and the tiny bit of jealousy he'd shown into her thoughts. Michael was so right for her.

  Chapter 6

  Emma spent the morning extolling the virtues of Gordon Simpson, and, according to Emma, he abounded with them.

  "He wants to start a new business," she said. "He says he'll spend some time deciding what the town needs." She barely paused as she stepped outside the door to hang the laundry to dry. "He thinks Willow Creek has a tremendous future since it's on the rail line between Calgary and Edmonton." She stepped back inside, the wicker laundry basket under her arm. "Of course the town council has been telling us that for years, and the paper has duly reported it. I just didn't pay them much mind."

  Chastity hid a smile. As far as she could
remember, Emma had only looked at the gossip pages and household hints of the weekly paper. "I'm wondering if you've found Mr. Simpson has a bit more to offer than the local boys?"

  It was a longstanding argument of Emma's that there could be no romance with a local boy. "How could I fall in love with someone I've known all my life," she would ask, "and seen with a runny nose or crying for his mama?"

  Emma let out a sharp breath. "Do you see any of the local boys setting out to establish a new business? They'll do what their fathers have done and never see what's right in front of their noses."

  "So Mr. Simpson is the answer to your prayers?"

  Emma blushed. "It's rather soon to tell." She rushed on. "He's not at all like his cousins. He's so—so full of enthusiasm."

  Remembering how the pink-faced Gordon could barely say hello, Chastity wondered if Emma was the only one who brought forth life in the man.

  Emma stopped to study Chastity. "Of course I know he doesn't hold a candle to Adam as far as adventure goes, but Adam doesn't even see me. He has eyes only for you."

  "Emma! How can you say that?" The room was steaming from the tubs of hot water, and the exertion of running the heavy sheets and towels through the wringer had caused the sweat to bead on Chastity's forehead. She paused to wipe her face on a rag.

  "I have eyes. And I'm not stupid."

  "No, you're not, which is why I'm so surprised you should think such a thing. I could never be interested in a man with wandering feet. Besides, you yourself warned against falling in love with him."

  Emma tightened her mouth. "The mind does not always go where the heart goes."

  Chastity giggled at Emma's stern expression. "True enough, but neither do we have to follow the fickle desires of our heart. I believe in mind over matter—and emotions."

  She dumped the rinsed sheets into the basket, and Emma hoisted it to her hip, heading outside to hang them.

  "I only hope you don't 'mind' yourself right out of something special."

  Chastity glanced up. "Special?"

  Emma nodded. "I might be young and inexperienced when it comes to love. But I have eyes, and it seems to me one would have to have a weak mind to pass up love—real love—for something 'reasonable.'" She practically spat out the final word and slipped outside.

  Chastity's startled gaze followed her, and she pressed her lips tight. Why was everyone determined that she and Adam should be romantically interested in each other? She ran a finger under the neckline of her dress to cool herself. Sure, he'd carried a memory of her, but it had nothing to do with reality. She wasn't the person he had carried in his heart all those years. Her dreams and wishes had grown in a different direction from his.

  "So what are you going to do about Adam?"

  Busy with the laundry, Chastity spared Emma the barest of glances. 'There is nothing to do about Adam. We're old schoolmates, I enjoy his work, and he's been kind to Mother for which I am grateful. We're friends and neighbors. That's all."

  Emma sighed, but Chastity said no more. Let Emma think what she wanted. Chastity knew her heart—and her mind.

  But Emma continued. "I suppose you'll end up marrying Michael." She rolled her eyes. "I can see the two of you planning a school program and telling yourself what an exciting day you'd had."

  Chastity laughed so hard she had to grasp the side of the rinse tub.

  Emma glowered at her. "What's so funny? Sounds deadly dull to me."

  Chastity wiped her eyes on the edge of her apron. "Put that way—it certainly does."

  "Believe me, it would be." Emma's forehead wrinkled as she stared into Chastity's face. "I sometimes think you're so set on getting a little house of your own that you'd settle on Pastor Simpson himself if he offered it."

  Chastity giggled at the prospect. "I guess it would work if you marry Gordon and let Martha move in with you."

  Emma shook her head. "Not me. Martha goes with her brother."

  "I guess that's out then."

  "I should hope so." Emma took the last load of laundry and headed to the door. "But I'm not fooling about what I said."

  "You really think I should consider Pastor Simpson? He's old enough to be my father."

  "No, silly. I mean about having your gaze so firmly fixed on the one thing you think you want that you're blind to everything else." The door slammed shut between them.

  Chastity shook her head. Young, impressionable Emma would settle for nothing but stars and roses. And gladly live with the consequences. But Chastity wanted so much more. It was something Emma, having grown up as she did, would never understand.

  The tea had been served and the laundry collected off the line before Chastity said to Emma, "I promised Jack I'd go to Adam's opening display today."

  "You go ahead," Emma said, glancing up from ironing a sheet. "And while you're looking at the display, have a good look at Adam."

  Laughing at her friend's determination, she headed downtown to the shop. Inside she stared around the room. The once bare walls were now colorful with paintings, drawings, and photos. Adam stood speaking to one of the older citizens of Willow Creek. When he saw her, his blue eyes darkened. Then a slow smile drove flashes of silver through his irises.

  A sensation stirred in the pit of her stomach not unlike the feeling she had when staring at the whirling waters of Sheep Falls. She blinked to steady herself, blaming Emma for her reaction. She squared her shoulder and took a step forward. Her mind would rule her heart.

  "I thought maybe you'd forgotten to come." Adam reached for her hand. "I'm glad you didn't."

  An older couple called out, "Adam, where did you paint this picture? It's lovely."

  He looked at Chastity with regret, then sighed. "Duty calls. Feel free to browse."

  She studied the display, entranced by the beauty. Scenery of the Yukon. Weathered faces of its inhabitants. Fleeting glimpses of the wildlife. She circled the room twice and would have gone around again, but Adam was at her side.

  "Ellen's going to watch the store for awhile so I can get some air. I thought we might take a walk."

  Caught in a web of color and sight and sensation, Chastity nodded. If he had asked her at that moment to follow him to the Antarctic, she would have agreed. So much for mind over matter, she scolded herself inwardly.

  She let him lead her outside into sunshine that was suddenly flat and streets that were colorless and ordinary. A wagon lumbered past, and a child ran across the street squealing in excitement. The spell broken, she planted her feet firmly on the wooden sidewalk. This was Willow Creek, where she belonged, where she longed to make a permanent home.

  "Were you pleased with the turnout?" she asked, her feet leading her on a familiar route.

  "Yes, very much."

  "How did the people respond to your work?" She wondered if others had been as moved by his paintings as she had been.

  "Mostly they oohed and aahed. A few asked if they could purchase a piece."

  Somehow she couldn't imagine him parting with anything. "Are you selling them?"

  "Not from this collection. In a week or two I'll set up a display of work for sale."

  They walked past the turreted houses and turned the corner into a narrower street.

  "How about you?" he asked. "What did you think of the display?"

  She oohed once and then aahed and smiled.

  He chuckled. "That good?"

  "Yes." She nodded briskly. "I'm not sure I can put it into words, but it was tremendous. I felt as if I were right there. As if I could feel the water's spray, touch the tiny flowers, even smell the sweat on that wizened old man."

  "You're doing a good job of putting it into words."

  She grinned. "The scenery is beautiful. Somehow I expected barrenness."

  Her steps slowed of their own accord as they neared the picket fence. He halted and faced her squarely, blocking her pathway and her view of the little house. "It is beautiful, but in all my travels I found nothing to compare to your beauty."

&nbs
p; She raised her startled gaze to his and, at the sight of the glittering warmth in his blue eyes, she immediately lowered her head and squeezed her hands into a tight knot.

  "I wish I could hang the picture I did of you. Yet I really wouldn't want anyone else to see it. It's the most personal painting I've ever done."

  She tried to move around him, but he touched her shoulder and stopped her.

  "Don't run away."

  She nodded. Perhaps it was best to clear the air.

  "I can't imagine life without you." His voice was low and strained.

  She took a deep breath. "And I can't imagine living the sort of life you do."

  "What do you mean? What do you know about the sort of life I want to live?" His hand was insistent on her shoulder.

  She summoned the courage to look him in the eye without blinking. "No doubt, you'll be gone as suddenly as you've come. For how long. Perhaps another ten years?"

  He stared at her, his eyes hard and unfathomable. "You're determined to believe that, aren't you?"

  "I'm determined not to make a colossal mistake that would ruin my life and rob me of what I want—what I've wanted for a long time."

  "I'm guessing you mean me when you use the word 'mistake.' " His words were dangerously low, but she forced herself to maintain eye contact. "And I suppose if I tell you I love you, you'll say I'm incapable of knowing what love is."

  "Not at all." She forced the words out of a parched throat. "But it isn't me you're in love with—it's a memory. You don't know who I am or what I want."

  His look was cold. "Perhaps you're right. The Chastity I remember was never afraid."

  She pulled back. "I'm not afraid."

  He continued as if he hadn't heard her. "Remember the time you stood up to Carl when he was tormenting little Sally? I can still see you planting your toes squarely in front of him, with your nose practically touching his. I'll never forget how you glared at him and said, 'I don't care if you are bigger than me. I won't let you hurt Sally anymore.'" Adam grinned. "You looked fierce enough to eat him. Poor Carl didn't know what to do. He sort of melted away."