by Megan Besing
But it was enough.
She may no longer be marrying Amos, but he’d help her like Pastor T had. That’s what preachers did. God, being ever gracious, would provide her with a future. Just not the one she’d prayed for.
Amos’ shirt hung wet against him from Sophie’s tears. Tears that meant she was undeniably pregnant. His Sophie was with child—another man’s child.
He summited the last burst of jealousy before finally whispering an amen. Sophie raised her head off his chest. Her beautiful brown eyes wouldn’t meet his.
His back cracked as he arched his shoulders. It shouldn’t take disaster to bring him to his knees. Sure, he’d prayed for his future bride, but nothing like this.
The doc cleared his throat. “Can I offer anyone a glass of water?”
Sophie’s focus remained on the floor. If only the help she needed could be found in the bottom of a glass, but life wasn’t that easy or simple. If it were, his fiancée would not have been raised in a saloon, Amos swallowed around the lump in his throat, or arrived pregnant. “No, thank you. Do you mind if we have a private word?”
He slid his hands in his pockets, jiggling a few coins. “I don’t have any pressing patients. The miss can rest. Here, if you prefer. It would be best…in her condition to do so.” Now there were two people avoiding his gaze.
After the door clicked shut, Amos pulled a chair from the corner and placed it in front of her. He sat, tapping his thumb and finger against his thigh. “In the letter that never arrived, had you spoken of…” He gestured toward her stomach.
She shook her head.
Amos crossed and uncrossed his ankles. She’d lied to him, or at least omitted the truth. Amos put his elbows on his knees. “And you’ve never been married?”
She shut her eyes, another round of tears running down her face.
He stood, sending the chair scooting into the wall. He’d been so sure God had sent him Sophie to be his bride. Hers was the first letter to respond to his ad. Had God changed His mind? Or was He using Amos like He had the prophet Hosea, with his marriage to Gomer? Was his and Sophie’s marriage to be some kind of example, too? Did God still work in that kind of way?
A commotion came from the front entry. The room’s door opened, knocking into a washbasin, which wobbled and crashed onto the floor.
“You trying to ruin our church, boy?” Hanson’s boots clinked with determination, William and another elder not far behind.
Amos left the broken pitcher pieces and stepped in front of Sophie.
Hanson poked his finger against Amos’ chest. “I said you were too young. But no one listened to me. Now look what happened. You couldn’t even wait to have her legal before God.”
Wait. He thought…Amos’ neck burned, whether from embarrassment or anger or both. How could Hanson think he and Sophie had…? She hadn’t even been here long enough to…
“Wait a minute, Hanson.”
Hanson narrowed his eyes at William. “I’ve been right so far concerning Miss Ross”—spit flew from his mouth as he hissed her last name. “Fine.” All his hatred returned to Amos. “Is your intended with child?” He wiped his mouth. “There’s no need to add lying to your sins. Fleming’s boy heard McCormick tell you she was.”
“Gentlemen.” Doc edged forward, sweeping the broken pieces toward the wall. “Is this really the way we speak on such private matters?” Why couldn’t this rational man be on the church board?
“When it comes to hiring a sinful preacher, there are no private matters. Pack your bags, Lowry. There won’t even be a need to vote. You won’t be our preacher. Not at Hilltop Chapel. I can promise you that.”
Chapter 7
Sophie pretended to be asleep when Margaret tiptoed in and laid a tray on the bed. After Amos practically hauled her back to the Olmsted’s house, Sophie tried to obey Doc McCormick’s advice to rest, but her mind would have none of it.
She pushed aside the slice of carrot cake and picked up her Bible. Amos had taken all the heat for her. How could Hanson assume it was his? She would never have knowingly put Amos in such an awful predicament. Still, what would become of her now? If Pastor and Mrs. T didn’t have room for her along with their daughter and kids in their house, how would they have room for an additional child? Her child.
She pressed a hand to her stomach.
“No, no.” Margaret’s voice drifted through the other side of her door. And then another lady’s reply. Someone Sophie couldn’t quite decipher.
“Because she’s resting. That’s why.” Sophie pictured Margaret with her fists placed on her hip, making her tiny frame appear larger than she was. The perfect person to have on her side. Other than Amos. Sophie blinked away tears. Amos had fled as soon as her feet hit the porch.
Sophie inched to the door.
“Of course it’s not Pastor Amos’ child. Goodness ladies, it’s as if you know nothing about the matter of birth, and each of you’ve had your fair share. She’s only been here—”
“Good. Then he may have a chance at staying.” That sounded like Judith? “But he cannot marry her.” Her words pierced Sophie, jabbing her heart. Oh, how the truth hurt.
“And how can you let her remain under your roof? She’ll bring sin into this house.”
“You’re willing to help the poor in our town, and the orphans in Kentucky, but when one of our own is in need, you turn your head?”
“She is not one of our own. She is an immoral woman. How dare she bring our church’s name down with her? And Pastor Amos with her, too.”
Was Judith right? Would she shame the Olmsteads if she stayed? Was that why Pastor and Mrs. T’s son-in-law was killed in a wagon accident? Because she’d brought sin into their family’s lives?
She grabbed her carpetbag, shoving her Bible inside. She couldn’t let that happen to the Olmsteads, or worse, to the man she’d grown to love.
After hearing the news of Sophie’s pregnancy, Amos had been certain nothing else would shock him. However, watching Sophie dangle her second leg out of the Olmstead’s opened window proved him wrong. He blinked at the sight before him. “What are you doing?” Had he been dropped into a dime novel? Maybe then the events of the day would make more sense.
Sophie muffled her yelp of surprise with her hand, but when she did, her grip on the windowsill loosened, and she fell to the ground.
Amos rushed across the yard and picked her up. “Are you all right?” He helped her stand, inspecting her limbs, face, her stomach where her unborn child grew. Then glanced at Olmstead’s window she’d just fallen from.
Dusty trotted around the corner of the house, ears on alert. His tail wound back and forth when he noticed Amos.
Sophie bent and clutched her carpetbag. “There’s no way the congregation will ever vote for me to marry you, and I don’t want to bring sin upon the Olmsteads and—”
He held up his hand, his tongue too slow to address all her statements—her wrong statements. “The church wasn’t going to vote on you.”
“But the vote—”
“Was for me to become their pastor. It wasn’t official yet. These past months have been a trial run.” He pried the bag from her fingers. “No one but God will tell me who I can or can’t marry.”
“You and I both know it can’t be me. I’m unworthy to be a preacher’s wife.”
“Are you…” Amos cleared his throat. “Are you going back to the…” He stole another glance at her stomach. “To the father?”
She bumped into the house. Her chest heaved with a ragged breath.
“It wasn’t like that—”
“Are you willing to flee from your old self? Confess your sins?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“Then I’m going to marry you, Sophie. God sent me you.” He had been a coward to have dropped her off at the Olmstead’s earlier. But after all the elders and their wives showed up at the clinic, Sophie had turned as white as that broken washbasin, and he couldn’t think straight with all the yelling. The
re was a right way to deal with problems and sin in church, and they weren’t going about it the correct way. Plus, he needed time alone with God, and knew that Margaret would help protect his Sophie.
“Hilltop will still have you. Just not me. I couldn’t have been the only option you had from your mail-order ad. You can marry someone else.”
True, she wasn’t, but like Abraham’s servant sent to find a bride for Isaac had prayed and received a sign, so had Amos. “I don’t want anyone else. I prayed that the bride God had for me would write to me first. My bride is you. You answered first.”
Her eyes dimmed. “What if God said no to giving you your sign? Maybe He didn’t like your request. Or maybe He did provide you a sign, but what if the postmaster accidently held the correct bride’s letter a day before handing it over? What if—”
“Your response was the only one I received in the first two weeks.”
“You can’t marry me. You’re a preacher. I was raised in a saloon. By a dance-hall girl. And I’m…expecting,” she struggled to say through her tears. “Hilltop won’t let you. I’ll just bring sin into their church.”
And there was the other thing he needed to address. He dropped her bag and laced his fingers through hers. “Honey, sin’s already in their church. Sin’s everywhere in the world, because we live here. We don’t become perfect even after God rescues us. Sophie, I made a promise to marry you.”
“And I’m releasing you of your promise.” She stepped away as Dusty shuffled under her feet. “You can’t have Hilltop and me, and I know which one you need to choose.”
So did he.
He left her standing there and knocked hard on the Olmstead’s front door. His knuckles throbbed. A second later the door opened, and Margaret and William stood with guilty looks. Had they heard everything? The fluttering curtains in the open window provided the answer.
“William, I need…I need…” He needed air. Ripping off his tie, he enjoyed a deep breath.
Sophie hugged her arms to her chest. She looked so fragile. Afraid. How long until she started to show? It wouldn’t matter. The peace he’d received after spending the afternoon on his knees filled him again.
He turned back to the unnaturally silent Olmsteads. “Can I borrow your wagon? And try not to allow Hanson to boot me out just yet. There’s something we need to do first.”
On the buckboard, Sophie clung to the only thing that made any sense—her carpetbag. “I don’t understand.”
William’s horse was a head shorter than Eugene’s, but it didn’t hinder their speed. Two startled bunnies hopped off the path, their white tails disappearing into the brush.
Amos squinted at the trail ahead. “What’s not to understand? You’re my mail-order bride, and we’re getting married. No more waiting on Pastor Gable. We’ll head to your Pastor T. Suppose we could search for a closer circuit preacher, but thought you’d enjoy seeing home again.”
Home? Neither the saloon nor Pastor T’s house were home anymore. She gripped the handles tighter until her fingernails dug into her skin. What if she saw Junior again?
“Sophie, honey, what’s wrong?”
“I can’t.”
He lowered his eyebrows, his jaw clenched. “Can’t what? Can’t marry me?”
That’s what she should admit for his sake, then Hillside would hire him, but her lips remained shut.
With a steady tug, Amos slowed the wagon. Dust floated overhead as he set the brake. The horse chomped at her bit and stomped her foot. Even the horse knew not to be thrilled with Sophie.
Amos rested the reins on his thighs. “Now’s the time to get out of this…if that’s what you want?” He swept his thumb along her skin as he always did. Tingles whisked to her heart. He was wrong. There was no reason to return anywhere. Home was no longer a place, it was him.
“But it’s not what I want.” He inhaled deeply. “Once we say I do, there’s no getting away from me, and we’ll need to be able to trust and talk to each other.”
Her knees knocked together. “I can’t go back there. If I see Junior again—” She’d what? God proved faithful. He’d get her through that, too, and she did miss Pastor and Mrs. T. Amos would be along. She trusted him to help protect her.
“Is Junior the…father?” He swallowed. “How long had you two stopped…sparking before you answered my ad?”
“Sp–spark…?” Where was the air her lungs needed?
“Help me understand.”
“That man.” Tears stung her eyes. “Was never…” She bent forward, one hand on her stomach, the other holding her upright on the seat. The carpetbag fell beside her feet on the buckboard. “Would never be the…” He didn’t deserve to be connected to the word father. “He attacked me. Said I owed him.” Even though the sun shined, her vision blurred to night.
Amos’ arm circled her waist, strong and steady. Holding her up. “Honey, I think you need to start at the beginning.”
Chapter 8
Hilltop’s back stoop framed a swaying cornfield. Amos’ leg brushed Sophie’s. Maybe they could skip what lay ahead and just enjoy God’s creation as their worship service. She squeezed his hand, as her lips moved silently in prayer.
After all she’d been through, her heart remained tender to God. He truly was a miracle worker. If only she’d have confided in him sooner. As to why Amos hadn’t thought to head back to seminary to find another preacher before yesterday, he hadn’t a clue. But God’s timing was always perfect.
The back door opened and William’s beard was the first thing in sight, followed by his stomach. “It’s time.”
Amos froze in the door frame, shielding Sophie. She didn’t need to suffer any more of their scorn. He had to give this sermon—his last here, but he didn’t have to bring Sophie to watch.
She ducked under his arm and the entire congregation gasped. Never had Amos felt unwelcomed inside a sanctuary, until now. They’d known he was returning, but apparently William led them to believe he had taken Sophie away, never to return. Or had they only wrongly assumed—again.
On the first pew on the right-hand side, Sophie sat, straightened her new skirt he’d bought her, and then gave him an encouraging smile. When he didn’t move, she bowed her head.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Hanson stood and crossed his arms. His snarling comment pierced the silence.
In the fourth row, Linda nudged her husband. Her finger pointed at Sophie. Whispers spread like a single spark engulfing dry grass. Traditionally, a few hymns and a prayer or two came before the sermon. Amos glanced at the wide-eyed pianist, Judith. Now that he wasn’t staying, he’d finally figured out most everyone’s names. God’s humor. Another unsolvable mystery.
Amos wiped his palms and opened his Bible to Revelation, chapter two. “The church in Ephesus was praised for their diligence in service. Hilltop shares in that honor with your care for the orphans and the poor. Like them, you’ve been wise in your quest for prohibiting false prophets, making sure I, your potential pastor, was doctrinally sound. But…” He read aloud a few more verses of scripture. “Do you also share what the church in Ephesus had forgotten? What started their journey of faith? Forgiveness. Love. An increasing relationship with Christ?”
“I’m afraid you’ve been too quick to assume.” He paused, nodding to the front row. “And too slow about listening to the one God was possibly assigning over you.” He pointed to himself. He also shared their guilt. He’d failed in shepherding them well because he’d been too concerned about how he looked on the outside. Wanting their votes more than spiritual growth.
“I don’t understand?” Vernon called. “Why’s she back?”
Eugene shook his finger. “If you want a chance at pastoring our church, you will end this engagement.”
Amos sighed, taking in the sanctuary he’d once coveted to have as his own. He’d been sure Hilltop needed him to be their pastor as much as he wanted to be. But they only needed God.
Scripture mentions pride comes before the fa
ll. Good thing God specialized in restoration. “Our engagement ended when I married Sophie yesterday. And I withdraw my candidacy to become Hilltop’s preacher. We’ll be moved out of the parsonage by morning.”
A teary-eyed Margaret dropped off a basket of cinnamon biscuits to the parsonage. After hugs, thank-yous, and a promise to drop by tomorrow before they left, Amos ate just enough to keep his stomach from complaining. Sophie sat at the table picking at her food while he did another sweep through the house. Not much left to pack besides a few daily items.
He gathered his Bible and tie, the silk material reminding him of home. There was a little good news in all this. His folks would now get to meet Sophie sooner. A noise sounding like gunshots made Amos dump everything into his trunk. A few whooping hollers followed, and if Amos wasn’t mistaken, half the town may have just galloped away on horseback.
“What was that?” Sophie spoke his thoughts aloud.
Amos peered out the parsonage’s front window. Vernon sprinted his way through the dust with his hand covering his cap. When Amos cracked open the front door, Vernon slid to a stop, waving for him to follow. “Bandits ransacked Shipley’s General Store! They picked up two ladies and sped away.”
Sophie gasped, pressing a hand to her chest, and rested against his filled black trunk.
The church bells announced the urgent call for help. Amos opened the door wider. “You got another horse?”
Vernon nodded. “Eugene’s saddling up all he’s got. Come on.”
“Sophie—”
She ran into his arms and kissed him hard on the mouth. Twice. “Be careful. I’ll be praying. You better come back to me. You hear?”
He took in her beauty, both inside and out. How could anyone have ever thought his wife wasn’t the right bride for him? “I love you,” he whispered against her neck.
She pulled back, her brown eyes wide. Her lips parted, ready for her next words. She’d repeated love in her vows, but his heart was eager to hear it for real.
