by Dawn Kinzer
“Give it to me.” Rebecca grabbed the napkin from the young woman.
The waitress knelt down to pick up the tray and broken dishes. “I’ll get a mop.” She headed toward the kitchen.
“It was an accident, Rebecca.” The voice of calm and reason. Peter searched the floor, picking up broken pieces of glass, and adding them to the pile accumulating on the tray. “Things happen. But as a Christian woman, you know the value in offering forgiveness. What a wonderful example you’d be to not only her, but to everyone here.”
Rebecca’s back straightened, her chin lifted, and she glanced around the room at the other dining guests. All eyes were on her.
The waitress returned with a bucket of water and a mop.
“I’m sure you didn’t mean to dump gravy all over me,” Rebecca said, loud enough for all to hear. “I’m sorry for yelling at you, and I forgive you for ruining my new clothes.”
“I accept the apology.” The waitress dipped the mop into the pail.
“Peter, I’m sorry our evening is ruined.” Rebecca’s former gloating smile had turned about as upside down as it could get.
“It’s fine, Rebecca. Once you go home and get into clean, dry clothes, you’ll feel much better.”
“You’re probably right.” She took several steps toward the door, but spun around, and bent down to talk to Mary. “I’ll see you bright and early in the morning.” Then she scurried out the door.
Peter grasped his daughter’s hand with his left. “Young lady, you and I will go home, make sandwiches, and read bedtime stories.” He shook William’s hand. “Sorry tonight’s performance wasn’t a little bit more refined.”
“Cultural pinnacle or not, it was one of the most exciting things I’ve experienced since moving here.” Will chuckled. “It was like attending a dinner theater.”
A smile flashed across Peter’s face. “Don’t let Rebecca hear you say that.” He turned toward Sarah. “Some people have a difficult time seeing the humor in harmless blunders.”
She didn’t miss the twinkle in his eye. He thought Rebecca’s mishap funny. It was good to see him less serious and enjoying a ridiculous situation—more like the Peter she’d known.
He threw her a knowing wink. “Don’t forget. We’re in charge of eleven youth this Sunday afternoon.”
chapteR TWENTY-ONE
The horseshoe clanked against the iron rod, spun halfway around, and landed on the ground. Peter grinned. “Sorry, boys, looks like I’ve won this time.”
“Awww, Reverend Caswell.” Fourteen-year-old Jack hit his thigh with his palm and laughed. “You musta been practicing all week.”
“Two weeks, Jack.” It felt good to roll up his sleeves and spend time with the Young People’s Society. Of course he wanted to win the confidence of the older generation, but Peter also yearned to spur the youth into seeking a deeper relationship with God. “You men carry on. I need something to drink.”
“It’s getting hot. I’m cooling off in the river.” Martin, close to seventeen, pulled his shoes and socks off and sprinted to the water’s edge. Four other boys followed suit.
Peter sprawled on a blanket spread beneath a tree and escaped the afternoon sun beating down on the group picnicking by the river. He mopped his damp forehead with a handkerchief. The tart lemonade made his lips pucker, but it quenched his thirst and cooled his insides as he guzzled it down. An ant exploring his forearm tickled his skin, and he brushed it away. The boys splashing each other triggered a smile.
Sarah played badminton with three girls, while three others sat creating hair wreaths and necklaces from wildflowers. It had been a long time since Peter had experienced such peace. He belonged here—he was convinced more than ever. God had brought him back home for a purpose.
One of the girls scored the winning point for her team, and with the badminton game ending, two team members joined their friends creating flower pieces. Instead of following them, Rachel skipped down to the water’s edge, drawing Martin’s attention. He sauntered away from the rambunctious boys, picked up several stones, and demonstrated to the pretty brunette how well he could skip rocks.
“It’s getting mighty warm out, isn’t it? Even for June.” Sarah strolled toward him. With grace, she lowered her body onto the blanket a few feet from him. “They’ll be ready to cool off under the shade soon, and we’ll have a short Bible lesson. I brought fresh strawberries for dessert.” She grabbed a basket from behind her, reached for a container, pulled out several enormous strawberries, and handed him one. “They’ll enjoy these. They’re sweet.”
With eyes sparkling and face flushed from the heat and activity, Sarah sent Peter’s masculine impulses racing. She nibbled on a large piece of fruit, then licked the juice from her lower lip. Voices faded into the background, but his heart pulsated in his ears. If only they were alone and he could feel her warm cheeks in his palms, and her red, strawberry lips on his. But they weren’t alone—and he had no right to touch her. She gazed upward, and rays of sun filtering through the leaves above kissed her lips instead.
A contented smile eased on to Sarah’s angelic face, and with an intense realization, Peter almost dissolved into the ground.
When Sarah smiles...I’m home.
He’d felt a kinship—a love between friends—even a physical attraction since they were children. They’d raced horses, fished, and tramped through the woods together. But with time, truth had spread through him like melted iron poured into a mold. Peter loved Sarah as a woman. No wonder he’d compared Lily to Sarah—his wife coming up short every time. No one could fill Sarah’s place in his heart.
She pointed to Martin and Rachel. “We used to skip rocks.”
“You got pretty good at it too.” Peter took a deep breath and leaned against the tree. “With my help and instruction.”
Her eyes narrowed, but her smile teased. “And aren’t you rather smug about it, Reverend.”
“Just being honest.” He nodded toward the young man and woman standing fairly close to each other at the river’s edge. “Those two have a thing for each other?”
“Martin and Rachel?” Sarah wrapped her arms around bent knees. “At seventeen, they think they’re ready to get married, but their parents want them to wait a year or two.”
“I wish...”
Sarah’s brow furrowed. “You wish what?”
“Nothing.” He couldn’t confess that he wished he’d done things differently—that he hadn’t jumped into marriage with Lily. That he’d waited until he knew what was best for him and the life he was called to lead.
To admit those thoughts and feelings would be saying he wished he didn’t have Mary, and he couldn’t imagine life without her. And now he couldn’t conceive being without Sarah either...
***
“Today, we’re going to talk about the Good Samaritan and what it means to be one in our own community.” Sarah studied the young people sitting in a half-circle facing her and Peter. Several squirmed, some avoided eye contact with her, and one boy poked Martin. “Is something else going on here? Or is the topic that uninteresting?”
“No—it’s not that.” Rachel gave Martin a stern look. She sat with a stiffened back next to him but ample space between them.
Peter leaned forward. “Martin, you seem to be appointed spokesperson.”
“We’ve—some of us—well, Rachel and me would like you to settle a little disagreement.” His elephant-sized ears flushed.
Rachel’s eyes narrowed, and her nostrils flared. “A little disagreement?”
Apparently, the two lovebirds had argued over something. Attempting to resolve it here, in front of the others, might not be a good idea. But with all eyes on her and Peter, avoiding the subject didn’t seem an option. Sarah tilted her head toward him to gauge his reaction. By the way his lips were twitching, she’d bet he was fighting a smile, if not a belly laugh. He was enjoying this!
Peter picked up a baseball lying near him on the blanket and tossed it between his hands. “
Who would like to go first?”
Martin’s chest expanded, and he gave Rachel a glance. “It’s no secret that I want to marry Rachel, and she wants to marry me. But down at the river, a bunch of us got into a discussion about women’s rights, and we disagreed on some things. If this dispute was just between Rachel and me, we wouldn’t bring it up now, but it seems the rest want to know your opinions too. Since you’re a man, and you’re a woman.” Color flashed from his ears to his face. “You know what I mean.”
“You think it would be valuable and fair to hear from us both on the subject.” Sarah tried to smile. Oh, Lord, help us. This was either going to be fascinating or very uncomfortable.
“I believe women should have the right to vote, and Martin doesn’t think I’m intelligent enough.” Rachel’s jaw was set, and she stared straight ahead.
Peter stopped tossing the baseball. “Martin, is that true?”
“She makes it sound like I think she’s got no brains at all.” Martin took a deep breath. “It’s not that women are stupid—they’re just not smart in some things.”
“Smart in some things?” It sounded like Peter wanted to challenge the boy.
“They know how to cook and garden and tend to babies. But when it comes to important decisions that affect the country—well, those things should be left up to the men.” Some in the group fidgeted, and several boys murmured in agreement. Rachel glared at Martin, but his face showed resolve. “Besides, that’s what the Bible says.”
Sarah bit her lower lip. If she wasn’t sitting with a pastor next to her and eleven others who looked to her as an example, she’d give that young man a tongue-lashing.
“Interesting.” All eyes stayed on Peter. “How did you come to that conclusion?”
“In the Bible it says that wives should submit to their husbands. To me that means men must be smarter than women. If God gave us more wisdom, then he must mean for us to make the more important decisions. If women are given the right to vote, they’ll just be messing with how God wants things to get done. That’s what my pa says, and that’s what I say.”
“Tell him that’s just not so, Reverend.” Rachel’s eyes glistened. “That’s not what God meant.”
Peter studied the baseball gripped in his hand for a moment. Maybe he was praying—Sarah sent up another plea herself. Tension filled the circle like a threatening storm cloud moving in and blocking the bright sun.
“You’re right, Martin.” Peter tossed the ball to the side. “But only partially right. God does ask that wives be submissive to their husbands. Out of love and respect. But not because their thoughts and feelings are less significant.”
“But God said that the husband should be the head of the household.” Martin stuck his chin out. “Seems to me that means he wants us to be leaders, not women.” The other boys nodded in agreement.
Sarah held her breath and her tongue. She wanted to put that boy in his place, but Peter needed a chance to handle it. She’d only speak out of frustration and wanting to convince the boy he was wrong. No wonder independent-minded Rachel sat fit to be tied.
Peter smiled. “I commend you for knowing so much about the Bible, Martin. I think you and I could have some great discussions.”
Martin puffed up and gave Rachel an “I told you so” look. She promptly turned her eyes away from him.
“But, the Bible also says that a husband should love his wife and give himself to her—just like Christ did for the church—even to the point of sacrificing himself for her. A good and wise husband wants to make his wife happy. He’ll listen to her counsel so they can work together for the good of the family. Men and women both can benefit the country by sharing their expertise and talents.”
One of the other boys cleared his throat. “Reverend Caswell, are you saying that you’d want your wife to have the right to vote?”
“I would.” Peter’s voice held conviction. He glanced at Sarah. “You may not know this, but Sarah and I have been friends since we were in grade school. She fished, climbed, and rode a horse as well as any of the other boys in the school. Her quick thinking also got me out of trouble more than once.”
Millie’s jaw dropped. “You’ve been friends that long?”
Laughter burst from Sarah. “You make it sound like we’re as old as the pyramids.” There was so much she wanted to say to these young people who were just finding their way. “Maybe the point the reverend is making is that, although men and women are very different, in some ways we’re not so different. Men and women can be friends, and it’s even more important in a marriage. Don’t you want the best for your friends? Even if it’s a sacrifice for you?”
Martin sat quietly for a moment, his forehead furrowed. “I guess I never thought of it that way before. I’m sorry, Rachel.”
“A mature man is open to new ideas, Martin.” Peter leaned over and shook the young man’s hand. “I’m proud of you.”
Rachel beamed and slid closer to her beau.
Glad to have that topic settled, Sarah sighed with relief. “Okay, everyone, you have a few minutes to cool off in the river before we head back into town. Make sure you pick up your things and pack them in the wagons.”
***
Peter shook out the large blanket. “That was an unexpected discussion.”
“It probably won’t be the last tough spot you’re put in, but I’m actually pleased they’re willing to ask difficult questions.” Sarah grabbed the other side of the blanket and matched his ends. “You handled it very well, Reverend.”
“We make a good team.”
Sarah gave a teasing smile. “We always have.”
Peter followed Sarah to a wagon, each with an armload. She was right—except for the time he spent at college and the years married to Lily, he and Sarah had made a good team, always looking out for the other. Always accomplishing more together than alone.
Everything packed in the first wagon, Sarah readjusted her hat. “We should rally them and head back. Some of them need to get home to help with the evening farm chores.”
“Before we do that...” Peter leaned against the wagon. “I was wondering.”
Sarah tilted her head toward him, smiling—listening.
“The Fourth of July is a week from this Friday. Mary and I are going to spend the day out at the farm with Ellie and the family. We—I—was hoping that you and your grandmother would join us.”
The smile slid from her face. “I’m so sorry, Peter. We’ve already accepted Will’s invitation to the annual picnic at the Carters’ home.”
William Reed—again. Peter swallowed. “Sure, I understand. The Carters always have a grand celebration. You shouldn’t miss it.”
He’d clung to hope that nothing had developed between Sarah and William except a simple friendship, but the man obviously desired something more—and perhaps she shared a similar interest.
Did Peter stand a chance of her returning to Riverton—and him—once she completed her mission in Kenya? Or would she later commit herself to a man who could provide luxury far above what Peter could even dream to possess? Or even want to? He could offer love and a simple home—but would that be enough for a woman who yearned for adventure?
***
The earlier discussion forgotten for now, the youth sang a lively new tune, “In the Good Old Summer Time,” all the way back into town. In contrast, Peter and Sarah, riding up front in the same wagon, spoke few words. He seemed deep in thought, and she struggled with her own. After they’d shared such a delightful afternoon, she couldn’t bear to finish the day between them in misunderstood silence.
“Peter,” she whispered, hoping the others wouldn’t hear, “I’m really sorry about missing the day at the farm. You know how much I love your sister’s family—and of course I’d enjoy spending the day with you and Mary.”
“I understand. You already made plans.”
“It’s not like that. William extended the invitation to my grandmother and me—and by that I mean, he asked her firs
t.” He knew Gram would adore going to the Carters’ and would insist they both attend. “I had no choice.”
“I’ve never known you to do anything you didn’t want to. It’s clear that Mr. Reed has affections for you, and I’m beginning to think you care for him too. By all means, you should spend the day with him and the Carters.”
“I shall. And I’ll have a wonderful time.” Sarah stiffened. “Maybe you should ask Rebecca to the farm. I’m sure she’d love to hang on your arm and stare up at you with adoring eyes the entire day.”
“Since you suggested it, maybe I will.”
chapteR TWENTY-TWO
I’ll tie up the buggy, Gram. Will you be all right waiting in the shade?”
Good thing she’d driven her grandmother to the Carters’ Fourth of July celebration. Although an easy walk for Sarah, Gram would have struggled with her cane in the summer heat.
“Of course, child. I may be old, but I’m not an invalid.” Gram dabbed the beads of moisture glistening on her forehead with a white handkerchief edged with lace. “Please get rid of that unpleasant expression on your face. You’d think you were attending a funeral instead of a party.”
“Sorry, Gram. I don’t mean to dampen the day.” Sarah climbed back into the buggy, leaving her grandmother beneath a large maple tree near the gate to the Carters’ front lawn.
“I’ll never understand you, Sarah.” Gram scowled. “You’ve been invited to the grandest party in the county today, and the most eligible bachelor has his eye on you, and you still find things to complain about.”
“The party will be exceptional, I’m sure. But as for William, there are as many women seeking his attention as there are mosquitoes buzzing around a warm-blooded animal on a hot summer’s night. He has many to choose from, and I’m not available anyway. Don’t forget. I’m still leaving the country as soon as I complete orientation.”
“Oh, Africa contrafica.” Gram tapped her cane on the ground. “I’m beginning to wonder if you’re ever going to hear from the missions society. You’ve been waiting for months for that so-called assignment. Are you sure they even want you? Maybe it’s all a figment of your imagination.”
