Brides of Kansas

by Bateman, Tracey V. ;

  Breathing a sigh of relief, Tarah waited for the sermon to begin. Anthony glanced at his notes for a minute, took a long, slow breath, then stared gravely from the pulpit.

  “‘For God so loved the world,’” he began, “‘that He gave…’”

  The tension eased away from Tarah’s shoulders, and she felt herself relaxing.

  His voice strengthened. “Now if God gave His only Son—a sacrifice on the altar of sinful and greedy men—do you dare keep yourself back from His free gift of salvation?”

  The flimsy pulpit shook as Anthony’s hand slapped down hard on the wooden surface.

  Tarah started at the suddenness of the action. Beside her, old Man Moody jerked his chin from his chest. “What? Amen, Preacher!”

  Louisa giggled, starting a chain reaction throughout the room, and soon everyone was laughing.

  Anthony’s face turned a deep shade of red, and he glanced back down at his notes. When the laughter died, he eyed the congregation and continued as though nothing had occurred. “Salvation bought with the blood of God’s innocent Son?”

  “You ever see a person sweat that much before?” ten-year-old Emily asked that afternoon at dinner.

  “Emily,” Ma admonished, “don’t be rude.”

  But Tarah noticed that Ma placed a napkin to her mouth to hide her smile.

  “I saw Mr. Gordon sweat worse than that during harvest last year,” Luke offered. “‘Course, that was before Doc Simpson made him lose all that fat. I thought ol’ Anthony was going to start dripping on the floor.”

  “Luke!” Ma said, now nearly choking to keep from laughing aloud.

  Pa’s blue eyes twinkled. “He did get quite a lather going, didn’t he?”

  Unable to suppress her mirth any longer, Ma laughed until tears rolled down her cheeks. Pa threw back his head and joined her. And of course, the children couldn’t resist.

  Sam slapped his hand down on the table, sending half of the utensils flying. “‘You,’” he said, lowering his voice in imitation of Anthony—a very poor imitation, in Tarah’s opinion. “‘I mean you!’”

  Tarah stared at her family with indignation. “I thought Anthony did a fine job,” she said with a toss of her head.

  The room suddenly grew quiet as her family stared at her, each face registering the same look of disbelief.

  Looking around the table, Tarah released a sigh of concession. “Oh, all right. So he didn’t do that great. But honestly, it was his first time to preach.”

  Ma sobered, her gaze searching Tarah’s face. Her expression softened, and her lips curved in a smile of understanding.

  Unable to abide the scrutiny, Tarah felt her cheeks flush as she averted her gaze and studied the blue-flowered print on her plate.

  “Tarah’s right,” Ma said. “We have to give Anthony a chance to find his own preaching style. I’m sure next week will be better.”

  “I sure hope so,” Luke said, shoving a bite of roasted venison into his mouth. “But I’m bringing a bucket to put under him just in case.”

  But the next week wasn’t an improvement. Neither was the week after, nor the week after that. By the time Anthony had been there a month, the good folks of Harper, Kansas, were beginning to grumble about the hellfire-and-brimstone preacher.

  Anthony awoke with a looming sense of dread. Maybe he could pretend to be sick this morning. His stomach was feeling a mite queasy at the thought of facing his unresponsive congregation once again.

  He lay in the predawn stillness, his silent pleas stretching from his heart to God’s.

  Why won’t they listen, Lord?

  Sometimes he felt like Noah must have, knowing the flood was coming and the people weren’t ready. The cows and horses paid more attention to his sermons than his shrinking congregation ever did. And he’d noticed people were beginning to avoid him like a bad smell. Everyone but Louisa Thomas. She seemed to genuinely appreciate his messages. Her smiling face was the highlight of his Sunday mornings.

  With a heavy sigh, Anthony drew back the covers and sat at the edge of his bed, trying to muster the enthusiasm to get up and begin the new day.

  “This is the day which the Lord has made. I will rejoice and be glad in it,” he muttered, feeling anything but joyful. Willing himself to move, he stood and walked barefoot across the small room, poured water into a basin, and grabbed his razor.

  A groan escaped his lips as he caught his reflection in the mirror. Even with the overnight scruff of a beard and mustache on his face, he looked like a teenage boy. No wonder no one took him seriously.

  Rats! What could he do about his face? He stared into the mirror, wishing for distinguishing gray at his temples or maybe a few lines on his face to indicate wisdom beyond his years. Pushing away the ludicrous train of thought, Anthony sighed and set down his razor. At the very least, he would allow his beard and mustache to grow. That would make him look older.

  With that decision made, he dressed quickly and headed to the kitchen, following the heady aroma of bacon frying and biscuits baking in the oven.

  “Morning, Ma,” he said, bending to plant a kiss on her weathered cheek. He drank in the comfortingly familiar scents of lemon verbena combined with dough.

  “Morning, son.” She directed him to a chair with a nod of her head. “Blane says not to worry about chores this morning. He was up early and finished.”

  “That’s a blessing.” Anthony sank into a chair at the end of the table and stretched out his legs, leaning back in his chair. “Where is he?”

  “Cleaning up. He should be in here soon.” Ma grabbed a cup from the shelf above the counter. “Coffee?”

  Anthony nodded absently. “Thanks,” he said and looked up with a smile as she set the steaming cup in front of him.

  “Something troubling you, son?”

  Breathing a heavy sigh, he waved a hand and shook his head. “Nothing anyone but God can help me with, I’m afraid.” Right now, he’d welcome a good talk with his mentor from his church back east. But Reverend Cahill was too far away to be of any help.

  “I just don’t know what these folks expect.”

  Ma removed the bacon from the skillet and set it on a platter. “I don’t think they expect much, Anthony,” she said thoughtfully.

  Surprised, Anthony shot a glance at his mother. He hadn’t meant to speak aloud.

  Setting the platter on the table, Ma stared down at him with a tender smile. “They just want to hear the Word preached with love and authority from someone who knows the heart of God.”

  Well, that pretty well summed him up, he figured. He loved these people enough to be concerned for their eternal souls and preached with so much authority that it took him all Sunday afternoon to recover from the exertion.

  He preached what he had been taught to preach: Show the people their sin, and give them the opportunity to repent. Surely that was the heart of God. Still, if that were the case, why wasn’t he seeing positive results?

  “I don’t know, Ma,” he said. “Seems to me the congregation is half the size it started out to be. If I don’t do something, I’ll lose the rest of them, too.” Then he’d be asked to leave at the end of the three-month trial period. The thought of failing clenched his gut.

  Ma rested a thoughtful gaze upon him. “Have you prayed about this?”

  Raking his fingers through his hair, Anthony released a long, slow breath. “I pray constantly for the people in this town. I’ve never seen such an unresponsive group.” He met her gaze, suddenly feeling the need to unload his frustration. “Do you know the people who have stopped coming to the services are meeting out at the Johnsons’ place on Sunday mornings?” It cut him to the core and more than wounded his pride that the folks would opt to share the Word among themselves rather than come to his services.

  “I heard something about that.” Ma’s voice held a twinge of sympathy as she sat and gave his hand a gentle pat. “You just have to concentrate on the members of your flock and not worry about those who feel they
need to meet elsewhere.”

  “I reckon you’re right. Still, it’s puzzling.”

  “I don’t want to be telling you your business, son, but it might do some good for you to get to know the members of your congregation better.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She shrugged, and her pensive gaze held his. “Seems to me I hear an awful lot of folks inviting you to Sunday dinner, and yet you’re always right here at my table.”

  Anthony shot her a wide grin. “Why should I go eat somewhere else when the best cook in Kansas is right here in my own home?”

  “Oh, now. You stop exaggerating.” But her eyes crinkled at the corners for an instant before she grew serious once again. “I just think maybe folks would like a chance to visit with you outside of the church. Let them get to know the real Anthony instead of just Reverend Greene.”

  The thought had never occurred to him before, but as he rolled the idea around, it seemed to make sense. “You think that might make a difference?” Anthony almost cringed at the desperation in his voice.

  “Couldn’t hurt. People want to know their minister cares about their everyday lives and not just their spiritual condition. Remember, the Bible states that Jesus ate with His disciples. He washed their feet and answered all of their questions. Tending sheep is much more than just feeding and watering.”

  “Ma, sometimes I think you should have been the preacher and not me.” He drained his cup and stood.

  “Where do you think you’re going? You haven’t had your breakfast yet.”

  He flashed her another grin, feeling more lighthearted than he had in weeks. “Coffee’s all I need today. With Blane doing the chores, I didn’t have a chance to work up much of an appetite. Besides, I want to get to the church early and look over my notes before the service. If I don’t get a move on, I won’t have time.” He gave her another quick peck on the cheek and headed back toward his room.

  “Don’t forget to take a razor to those whiskers,” Ma called after him.

  Anthony stopped and turned to face her. “I thought I might let them grow.” He rubbed his hand over his jaw, already irritated with the itchy growth.

  “I see.”

  At the look of understanding on Ma’s face, Anthony’s ears heated up. He knew better than to think a man’s outward appearance mattered. These people were more than willing to give him a chance in the beginning, knowing full well how young he was. A beard and mustache were not going to make a difference if he couldn’t somehow find a way to reach their hearts.

  Clearing his throat, he turned without another word and strode to his room to dress in his Sunday suit and get rid of those irritating whiskers.

  Chapter 3

  Tarah closed the door after the last of her students filed into the schoolhouse following their lunch break.

  Only two more hours, she consoled herself as she walked to her desk. Then she could go home and nurse her pounding headache—depending on how long it took Luke to write his punishment sentences for the day.

  Yesterday she had made him write, “I will not place bent nails in any other student’s chair.” One hundred times. Today he would have to write, “I will not place frogs in any other student’s lunch pail.” Why he would want to do such things was beyond Tarah. If he wanted to spend his afternoons writing sentences, that was his choice, even if it meant she had to stay after school as well.

  Rapping on the table with her ruler, she called the school to attention. She released a frustrated breath as the clamor continued. The three McAlester girls screamed and ducked when a slate pencil flew across the room. Tarah rapped again—harder. “Take your seats immediately!”

  “Ow! Let go!” Emily’s cry of pain echoed off the walls.

  “Jeremiah Daniels,” Tarah called above the chaos. “Turn loose of Emily’s braid and go stand in the corner.”

  The boy glared back at her, defiance sparking in his eyes.

  The room grew quiet as the children watched the exchange. They waited, as did Tarah, to see what Jeremiah would do.

  Please, God. Make him obey me.

  She met his gaze evenly. “In the corner…Now!”

  He scowled but slowly slipped from his seat and made his way to the corner.

  With a relieved sigh, Tarah turned to the other students. “The rest of you pull out your readers and just…be quiet for a few minutes.”

  Wearily she sank into her chair. Crunch!

  A sense of dread hovered over Tarah like a thick black cloud about to burst. Pressing her palms to her desk, she pushed herself to a standing position, pinning Luke to his wooden bench with her gaze. She gathered a slow breath and glanced at her chair. Fury rose inside her at the sight of messy egg remains. She twisted and found the rest of the shell and yoke stuck to the backside of her new calico dress.

  The children snickered until she glared at the room, hands on her hips. That was it!

  “Luke!” she bellowed.

  After almost four weeks of absolute chaos, he had finally driven her to her breaking point. Standing in the corner didn’t bother Luke, writing sentences certainly didn’t deter him, and Tarah had decided telling Pa and Ma was no longer an option. She had to show them she could handle things on her own. And right now, she was going to do just that.

  “March yourself up here this instant, young man.”

  “What’d I do?”

  His look of innocence only infuriated her more.

  Snatching up her ruler from the desk, she faced him. “You know very well what you did, and it’s not going to happen again.”

  Tarah gathered in another breath for courage. She had never believed in corporal punishment in the schoolroom, but now she understood why other teachers used the ruler on their students. Sometimes other forms of punishment just did not work. “Hold out your hand.”

  “But Tarah, I didn’t—”

  “When we are in school, you will address me as ‘Miss St. John’ like the other children,” she said through gritted teeth. “Now hold out your hand.”

  “Miss St. John?”

  Tarah turned at the sound of Josie’s quavering voice. The little girl sat white-faced in her seat, worry clouding her eyes.

  Tarah gave her a dismissive wave. Of course Josie didn’t want Luke to be whipped. More often than not, they were partners in crime. Well, that was too bad. This time Tarah was getting the upper hand. She’d show them all they couldn’t get away with terrorizing her anymore.

  “But Miss St. John—”

  “Sit still, Josie. I’ll be with you in a moment,” she snapped.

  Turning her gaze back to her brother, Tarah almost gasped at the tears in his eyes. She pushed away the compassion threatening to melt her resolve and raised her brow. “Well?”

  Slowly he gave her his palm.

  Tarah flinched as the ruler came down with a resounding smack.

  “Please, Miss St. John.” Josie slipped from her seat and made her way to the front.

  “Wh–what is it?” Tarah whispered, unable to pull her gaze from the look of betrayal on Luke’s face.

  “It wasn’t Luke.”

  “What do you mean?” Panic tore across Tarah’s heart.

  “I—I put the egg on your seat. Luke didn’t know anything about it. Honest.” The little girl slowly inched her hand forward, palm up. She squeezed her eyes shut while she awaited her punishment.

  All the strength drained from Tarah, and the ruler dropped to the desk with a clatter.

  “Luke, I—”

  “May I go back to my seat, Miss St. John?” Despite his stormy gaze, his bottom lip quivered.

  Tarah nodded. With great effort, she faced her class. The wide, questioning eyes and even fearful expressions on some of the younger children’s faces were more than she could bear. “School is dismissed for the day,” she croaked. “Tell your parents I–I’m not feeling well.”

  Somehow she managed to stand on wobbly legs until all of her students but Luke silently gathered their belongings
and left the school. He walked to the blackboard. Folding his arms, he stared daggers through her.

  “What do I write today?”

  Filled with remorse, Tarah couldn’t blame him for the belligerence in his stance and tone. “N–never mind, Luke. Go on home, and tell Ma I’ll be along later.”

  Silently he walked to his desk and grabbed his things.

  “Luke,” Tarah said, tears nearly choking her.

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t give you a chance to explain.”

  Luke shrugged. “Didn’t bother me none.” He slipped outside before she could say more.

  Unmindful of the mess, Tarah sank back into her seat. Folding her arms atop the desk, she pressed her forehead onto the backs of her hands. Sobs shook her body.

  It’s just too hard, Lord. I can’t do it.

  “I can’t give ya any more credit until ya pay what ya owe. And that’s all there is to it.”

  Anthony tried to pretend indifference to the exchange between the ragged stranger and the storekeeper but found himself unable to look away.

  “Please, Tucker,” the man begged. “You know I got them two youngsters to feed. I’ll pay ya soon as I sell off a pig.”

  Anthony surveyed the man’s shabby, thin clothing and greasy hair. He figured it must have taken a lot of courage for a fellow to swallow his pride and ask for help. Compassion rose up within him.

  What would it hurt to extend the man credit for a little while? He glanced at the storekeeper, and his heart sank. Tucker was having none of it. “Look, John, ya promised the same thing last month an’ the month b’fore. I just can’t do it.”

  Unable to endure the look of misery on the man’s face, Anthony stepped up beside him. “Look, Tucker, just put his order on my account.”

  The creases on Tucker’s face deepened. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Preacher,” he said, warning thick in his voice.

  “You let me worry about that,” Anthony replied. He extended his hand to the ragged stranger.

  A nearly toothless grin split the man’s face as he reached out a filthy hand and gripped Anthony’s. “I’m obliged to you, sir. An’ dontcha worry none; I’ll pay ya every last cent, soon as I sell that pig.”