Lightning and Lace

by DiAnn Mills

  Less than a week remained until Christmas, and the preparations were well under way. She and Juanita worked daily on planning the holiday dinner and baking. Bonnie completed gifts for family and friends and items for the ranch hands, helped Juanita with housecleaning, and assisted the women of the church in taking care of those less fortunate. Thankfully, the many rehearsals for the Christmas Eve service had produced a fine program. The children would act out the first Christmas while the choir supplied the music. Michael Paul and Travis planned to sing “O Come All Ye Faithful,” and Michael Paul would play the part of Joseph. He’d also sing “Silent Night.” Lydia Anne had a white costume for her role as an angel. However, she wanted to be a shepherd. Her little daughter’s tomboyish ways were a source of amusement in the family.

  Rarely did a single member of the family have Thanksgiving and Christmas at their home in the same year, but Bonnie had won out this season. Her family understood her desire to make up for previous holidays. Her only regret was that the Kahlers’ celebration on Christmas Day conflicted with hers, but she and the children would visit the other grandparents on Christmas Eve before church.

  Christmas Eve services. The reverend and Travis had boarded up the broken windows at church to keep out the weather, and although Lester had boasted of paying for the repairs, nothing had happened. The services would still be meaningful. Nothing stopped good people from celebrating Christ’s birth.

  She smiled happily. Then a gray cloud settled above her. Sheriff Arthur had not found out who had killed Rosie. Like her brothers and a few other close friends and family, Bonnie suspected Lester. After all, if Rosie carried Lester’s child, Sylvia might not be so forgiving this time, and she provided the funds for Lester’s many investments.

  Bonnie shuddered. Had anyone given thought to Lester ending Sylvia’s life? He’d be in fine shape with no money problems and able to seek out all the women he wanted. Surely the idea had crossed the minds of her brothers and Travis. Reason told her that Lester might get away with Rosie’s passing, but Sylvia held a high position in the community. Folks would not rest until someone was arrested. The thought sickened her until she turned to prayer to rid her mind of another tragedy.

  Decorating the house to celebrate the birth of the Savior and contemplating the probability of another woman’s death did not mix well. Bonnie set aside the box of Christmas items until Michael Paul returned from school. The children could help her with the decorations before supper.

  *****

  “Merry Christmas!” Morgan called the moment he entered the house on Christmas Day, his arms laden with packages. “And I’m hungry enough to eat a horse.”

  Bonnie had not felt this excitement in a long time. All those she held dear to her heart were gathered near to her.

  Casey and the children filed in behind him, carrying food and wearing smiles. Grant and Jenny with their little girls, Mama and the reverend, Juanita and Thomas, Zack, and Travis crowded in the parlor around the nine-foot Christmas tree.

  “It’s beautiful,” Mama said.

  “Michael Paul and Lydia Anne helped Juanita and me,” Bonnie said. “Of course, we ate more popcorn than we strung on the branches.”

  “When do we eat?” Grant said. “I don’t want to feast on a horse, but a couple of pies will do. Of course, the only thing that keeps me in shape is working here or on Morgan’s ranch.”

  “You two are teaching your children wonderful manners,” Casey said, and Jenny promptly agreed. Her two sisters-in-law were so different: Casey with her height and vibrant auburn hair and petite Jenny with a mass of thick, dark curls.

  “If we’d eat, that would solve the argument,” the reverend said. “I’ll read the Christmas story, and then we can feed this hungry family.”

  And the Christmas celebration began.

  When everyone had eaten their fill of dinner, they found a place to sit in the parlor around the tree. Bonnie set her gifts aside and watched the others open their packages. She especially adored the looks on the children’s faces as they tore into the wrappings and dipped into their stockings.

  “Your turn, Mama,” Zack finally said.

  She smiled and opened each package as though it were the most precious gift of all. Zack’s box to hold Ben’s personal belongings brought tears to her eyes. Michael Paul had made a beautiful card and a Christmas tree ornament in school, and Lydia Anne had helped Grandma Kahler crochet a shawl. Bonnie came to the last gift, and she knew without asking that it was from Travis.

  The brown paper package felt like a book. Ah, another journal for the one she was fast completing.

  “It’s not a journal,” he said.

  She glanced up as she gently tugged at the wrapping. “Are you reading my mind?” Don’t flirt. Morgan and Grant will start teasing and never quit.

  The clothbound book turned easily in her hand: Information for Authors, by Eleanor Kirk. She opened it. December 25, 1898. To Bonnie, May this book assist you with your writings. Fondly, Travis.

  She peered into his face, which appeared anxious with little lines across what she could see of his forehead. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  She turned another page, conscious of her entire family’s eyes studying her every move. But she didn’t care. This little book would help her to write properly. All the stories floating around in her head could be written and possibly sent to a publisher in New York City. The thought thrilled her. The first page displayed the author’s name and address. It also listed the author’s fees for reading and giving an opinion of the manuscript. How wonderful. In the preface, the author stated the book’s contents and how it would especially aid the beginning writer. The chapters brought another surge of excitement: the appearance of a manuscript, methods of literary work with paragraphs on inspiration and how to arrange a schedule to write, literary qualities, the varieties of literary work, different types of manuscripts, information about editors, the making of books, and publishers.

  “What a perfect gift,” she said.

  “I thought you might help me with some of my sermons. I mean after you read it and have the time.”

  “I’d be honored to.”

  Morgan chuckled. Grant coughed. The reverend covered his mouth, and Zack had a grin that spread from ear to ear. She closed the book and lifted her chin. Too late—the teasing had begun.

  Chapter 31

  After Christmas, Travis settled in to creating sermons and having Bonnie read them so she could give her opinion. It gave her an opportunity to apply the techniques about writing from his gift and for her to see if she enjoyed what she learned.

  The time together also took its toll on his heart to the point where he wished he hadn’t asked her to help him. Every moment made him feel like he was on the losing end of a tug-of-war.

  “I think this sermon needs more scripture,” Bonnie said. The two sat on Travis’s front porch. Although it was a bit chilly, she refused to set foot inside his house even if her son was there. “I corrected a few misspelled words.”

  He chuckled. “Two weeks ago, you didn’t say a word about my spelling.”

  “That’s because I assumed you knew how to spell those Old Testament names and cities.”

  “Don’t tell Zack. He thinks I never make any mistakes in my writing.”

  She laughed, and oh how he treasured the musical sound. “What should I ask for in order for me to keep quiet?”

  A kiss would ease this heart.

  Bonnie must have read his thoughts, for her face reddened. He’d not trade a minute of the time spent with her. “Bonnie, I’d give you about anything you wanted.”

  She nibbled on her lip and focused her attention on the paper with his sermons. “I like the part where you suggest folks memorizing more scripture to keep God’s Word buried in our hearts.”

  He shou
ld apologize. He’d most likely offended her, and she didn’t have the heart to scold him. But what stayed foremost in his mind was the murderer who walked the streets of Kahlerville. Either Lester had killed Rosie, or he knew who had. Laura and Daisy avoided Travis, and Bonnie reported that the young women were sullen and said little. Travis prayed for answers and kept his eyes and ears open.

  *****

  “I wish the sheriff could have found out who killed Miss Rosie,” Zack said the following morning as the two took their early walk. The weather had dropped to freezing the night before, and the brisk pace helped warm them.

  “You and a whole lot of other folks,” Travis said.

  “When my uncles, you and I, Mama, and my papa’s family think Lester had something to do with it, why doesn’t the sheriff arrest him?”

  “No proof, son. Unless someone comes forth with information that ties him to Rosie the night she was killed, we have nothing but suspicions.”

  “I wake up in the morning and go to sleep at night worrying about Mama. She’s made Lester plenty mad.”

  “Thomas is there with her.”

  “I know, and that makes me feel better. Sure wish she was more like my aunt Casey. You can be sure Lester would never cross her. Have you talked to Mrs. Hillman?” Zack sank his hands into his pockets.

  “Once, right before Thanksgiving when several of us gathered pecans at Morgan and Casey’s ranch.”

  Zack’s question twisted in Travis’s thoughts. He’d been thinking about talking to Lester’s wife again. Their conversation that day in November had gotten interrupted. Maybe now, she might feel like talking. Especially when she’d told them how she loved the residents at Heaven’s Gate.

  “Brother Travis, are you listening to a thing I say?”

  Travis snapped back to Zack. “Sorry. I was thinking about Sylvia.”

  “Maybe God wants you to pay her a visit.”

  He chuckled. “Has anyone ever said you can be quite persuasive?”

  “A few.” Zack grinned. “I might be a preacher yet.”

  “All right, you win, Brother Zack. After breakfast, you work on your studies, and I’ll spend time praying and then go see Sylvia.”

  Shortly after nine thirty, Travis walked to Heaven’s Gate where Sylvia volunteered a few hours most mornings. He often wondered what she did there every day since Laura worked at the bank and Daisy helped take care of Sylvia and Lester’s huge home in the afternoon. Most likely, being at Heaven’s Gate gave her purpose. However, Lester had just given notice that she’d not be volunteering past the end of February.

  The overcast day brought a cold wind out of the northwest, and a sprinkling of rain chilled Travis to the bone. He hoped the dreary weather did not contribute to Sylvia’s mood during their conversation.

  Hesitantly, he knocked on the door. An empty hollow sound met his ears, like the spirits of those who lived inside. They were afraid, and no one should live in fear. The verse from 2 Timothy 1:7 came to him: “For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.”

  Ofttimes, Zack reminded him of young Timothy from the Bible, and Travis did sense God calling the young man into the ministry. Or maybe it was wishful thinking on his part. Whatever lay ahead for Zack, he’d be a success.

  The door opened, and Sylvia greeted him. Her flushed face disturbed him, and the quivering smile she offered did little to settle his concern.

  “This is not a good day for a visit,” she said.

  “Is there something I can do to help?”

  In the background, he thought he heard weeping. He sharpened his hearing while determined to engage Sylvia in more conversation.

  “No. Nothing. But thank you for your kindness.”

  “Are you or one of the young women ill?”

  “Daisy is feeling poorly, and I’m tending to her.”

  He listened. “She must be in a bad way, because I hear her crying. Perhaps Doc Grant should take a look at her.”

  “No,” Sylvia said much too quickly. “She’ll be fine.”

  Uneasiness crept all over him much like the sensation he’d felt just before the twister struck. “I’d like to talk to her.”

  “I can’t let you do that, Brother Travis.”

  “I could pray for her. Or possibly read scripture.”

  Sylvia stiffened. “She’s not up to visitors.”

  “Has she been beaten?”

  She pressed her lips together for a moment. “Why ever did you ask such a thing?”

  “Sylvia, too many women are hiding things in this town. Afraid of someone or something. My guess is Daisy is in a bad way. I wish you’d let me come in. I really want to be of help. Have you forgotten who found Rosie’s body? How many times was she beaten before someone killed her?”

  “I can take care of Daisy just fine.”

  “Sylvia, I don’t mean to be rude or a nuisance, but I’m not in the mood to bury another one of the young women from Heaven’s Gate.”

  “Surely you don’t think I had anything to do with Rosie or—”

  He shook his head. “No, but I think Daisy knows more than what she told the sheriff about Rosie’s demise. Maybe you do, too.”

  “I don’t need to listen to this. My Lester—”

  Travis realized he’d gone too far. Seemed like all the pent-up anger about what was going on at Heaven’s Gate and Lester’s evil nature had caused Travis to sprout horns. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I believe your only role in what has been going on here is protecting those you love. I am terribly sorry for my harsh words.”

  He whirled around and retraced his steps, but instead of heading home, he walked on toward the church. He needed to get right with God for his outburst. He wasn’t a sheriff, or a lawyer, or a doctor. He was a preacher, and his calling meant tending to the spiritual needs of his flock, not condemning other folk who didn’t live up to his expectations. For certain, Lester would have him thrown out of Piney Woods Church after hearing he lashed out at Sylvia.

  Travis hesitated outside of the church. He didn’t deserve to step within its holy walls. The agony of disappointing God thundered against his senses. The screams of a hundred demons pronounced him unfit. You do not love God. You do not love His people.

  A wave of sickness swept over him. Memories of the days in Tennessee slammed into his thoughts.

  For thy name’s sake, O LORD, pardon mine iniquity; for it is great.

  Trembling like a leaf in the wind, he grasped the door handle and entered the Lord’s house. The silence pounded in his ears. Bile rose in his throat. He despised himself. Courage and strength pulled his gaze to the cross, the symbol of what Travis’s sins had cost his heavenly Father.

  Somehow he managed one foot in front of the other to the altar and there lay prostrate on the floor. He begged forgiveness for what he’d said to Sylvia. His words to her had not been righteous indignation in upholding the gospel but revenge against Lester. How he’d hurt God.

  Travis prayed for Sylvia and Lester. He begged for a heart to love Lester and to see him through the eyes of God. His entreaty moved to all the folks involved in the evil he’d seen of late. He called each person by name and asked God to protect them and draw them closer to Him. Then he wept. He prayed for Lester and the men who abused Laura and Daisy. Travis pleaded for guidance in the hours and days ahead—the unknown. Not since his church in Tennessee had shut him out had he shed so many bitter tears for his own actions. Today, like so many times in the past, he questioned why God had called such a sinful man into the ministry. Folks looked up at him to be a representation of Jesus, and look how he treated them.

  He needed to produce fruit, not the sour grapes sickening his spirit. That’s what pleased God. “But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, go
odness, faith, meekness, temperance . . . .” Travis couldn’t offer good fruit if he did not love others as himself.

  His prayers ended, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. Scripture came to mind. Words from hymns comforted him. With his eyes tightly closed and his heart heavy with his own worthlessness, Travis sensed he was not alone. Without opening his eyes, he realized he was feeling the presence of the almighty God. Peace whisked him up and held him as though he were wrapped in a cocoon. Forgiveness had been granted, and once more Travis recommitted his life to the will of God.

  “Brother Travis? Are you all right?”

  The voice of Jocelyn Rainer ended the communion. Part of him wanted the time with God to continue, and the other part understood he must get on with His work.

  “I needed forgiveness,” he said.

  She stayed in the back of the church, and he appreciated her discretion regarding his misery.

  “Would you like to be left alone?”

  “No. I’m finished.” He pulled himself to his feet and faced her at the opposite end of the aisle. “Sometimes I wonder how God puts up with me.”

  “We all question that.” She laughed lightly, and he smiled in response. “The reverend often asks the same thing. Don’t be too hard on yourself. You’re a man, not God.”

  “I just hurt a wonderful lady, and I don’t think my apologies eased her damaged spirit.”

  “I’m sure she’s forgiven you.”

  “I’ve never seen an ounce of selfishness in Sylvia Hillman. Makes me downright ashamed of myself, but the damage is done.”

  “Let God heal the problem.”

  “Sounds like you were privy to my prayers.” He walked toward her.

  “It’s a universal one.” She smiled again. “How about a cup of coffee before you take on the world? Got a few biscuits left from breakfast, too.”

  Wisdom. Jocelyn Rainer held more in her little finger than he’d earn in a lifetime of preaching.