Courting Emma (Little Hickman Creek Series #3)

by Sharlene MacLaren

  Emma dawdled on Grace's assumption that she thanked the Lord each clay, and realizing she fell short, swallowed a lump of guilt.

  Grace whirled away from the window, making her skirt flare out with the twisting motion. Her sun-pinkened cheeks glowed bright. "Oh, Eninia, I'm so happy to finally meet you." In one fluid move, she strode across the room, tore the pins from her hat, laid them on the dresser, and tossed the flowery bonnet like a soaring kite across the room, letting it land where it would. The move made her golden brown hair stand up in places, and Emma nearly laughed aloud. Grace smoothed the stray locks down with her hand and closed the distance between them by throwing herself on the bed next to Emma. For a woman of forty-six, she certainly had a springy manner about her, springy yet graceful, living up to her name.

  "You cane at the perfect tine," Emma told her.

  Grace looked only a little hesitant. "You're not just saying that?"

  The bed jiggled while Grace made herself comfortable. Two pairs of feet dangled over the edge of the high bed, the simple sight of which produced a wave of giddiness in the pit of Emma's stomach.

  "From the moment I learned you were my cousin, I've been dyin' to meet you."

  Grace smiled, showing that slightly crooked front tooth, which only lent to her charm. "Me too."

  "Are you hungry?" she asked.

  "Famished."

  "Then we should go downstairs and produce a sandwich and a bowl of soup for you."

  When she would have leaped off the bed, Grace grabbed her arm and pulled her back. "All in good time, cousin, but first, tell inc how your father is faring."

  Over the next several minutes, Emma told her cousin about Ezra's dire condition, how he'd come in weak as a motherless duckling but rallied under their care. How he seemed to have good clays and bad days with nary a hint the night before of what to expect in the morning.

  Unsure whether to tell her about her father's conversion, she decided there was no reason not to, except for the fact that Emma herself was still trying to digest it.

  Cinnamon eyes sparkled like winter stars when Enirna divulged the story. "But that's wonderful, Emma. It's exactly what I've been asking God to do for Ezra." She tipped her head and leaned in close. "Why so downcast?"

  "What? Oh, I'm not. I just it seems unreal to me, that's all. I don't understand how God could take the reckless ruins of my father's life and make him into a new person. I'll grant you he does seem different-there's a glow about hint-but I can't help but wonder if he's riding on some kind of eniotion. It all happened so fast."

  Grace gave Emma's arm a gentle squeeze and curved her mouth into a thoughtful smile. "That's what God does for its, honey; He takes its just as we are, no matter how sinful or vile. Nothing we do will ever make its worthy of Him, but that's the good news. We don't have to be worthy. Christ paid the ultimate sacrifice for our sins when He died on the cross, so the worst is over. All that remains is for us to ask Him to forgive its and believe that He does. There's nothing more to it than that."

  She made it sound so simple. Had Jon presented it to Ezra in just as simple a manner? If so, she could almost understand why Ezra had prayed the prayer. It would be nice to live a peace-filled life, free of anger and inner resentment.

  A tiny seed of interest sprouted from within, making her hungry, not in the physical sense, but in the spiritual. In fact, her soul burned with need. To ward off the feeling, she pulled herself up. Grace followed suit.

  "Want to see what I brought you?"

  Relief filtered through her veins when Grace didn't push the subject. That and a ripple of excitement. "You brought me something?"

  "You don't think I would come all this way without bearing gifts, (10 you?"

  Grace tugged her to the floor next to the big black trunk, and in the next several minutes, she emptied the thing of a myriad of items. Besides those things she'd packed for herself, clothing, nightwear, cosmetics, and such, she presented Emma with an array of gifts: expensive perfume, a large supply of two different colorful fabrics, a selection of threads and sewing accessories, a lovely quilt, and a box of delectable chocolates. Emma couldn't help but notice that most of the items bore the name of Marshall Fields, either on tags or, in the case of the perfume and chocolates, on the bottom of the boxes.

  "Oh iiiy!" Emma rasped. "This is just too extravagant."

  "Nonsense."

  "But I've never owned anything from Marshall Fields."

  "Well, now you do," Grace said with a shrug and a smile, as if the items were nothing more than a few grains of sand. "And I loved every single minute I spent shopping for them. I had your sweet face, although I'd not seen it yet, pictured in my head the whole time. You would love Marshall Fields, honey. Why, you can nearly get lost in there if you don't pay attention."

  "Oh, mercy. That seems far-fetched, but I'm sure it's true. I saw a picture of it once and read an article when I was skimming through a magazine in Johansson's Mercantile. It looked to be quite soniethin'."

  Emma stared at the outlandish assortment spread out before her, the lovely quilt, the perfume, the fabrics. Wetness spilled out the corners of her eyes. "I don't-know what to say, 'cept-thank you."

  Without hesitation, Grace drew her close. A soft chuckle breezed past her lips. "That'll do."

  The two rocked back and forth for what must have been a full two minutes. Emma relished in the warmth of her cousin's embrace, still hardly believing she was here.

  They both pushed apart at the same time. "And now I have one more thing to give you."

  "Oh no, I couldn't accept another thing. Really, this is too much already."

  Grace laughed and poked her hand into the trunk, feeling around until she produced the item she sought, a tiny, red velvet box.

  "But, what is this?"

  "Open it and find out," she answered, shoving the box precisely under her nose.

  Emma looked from Grace to the precious little box, shaking with hesitancy. Without even looking, she knew something priceless lay within the velvet confines. But what?

  "Go ahead," Grace urged. "I'll explain after you open it."

  With trembling fingers, she took the tiny case. She used her other hand to lift the lid, and when she did, she nearly swooned at the sight. A gold pendant with three glistening diamonds and hanging from a gold chain winked back at her. She'd seen this piece before, had admired it countless tines over, remembered commenting to its owner on how very pretty it was, the way the diamonds swirled in that half-moon effect.

  Eyes swimming, she felt her jaw drop nearly to her waist. "I don't understand. This is...but how did you...? This once belonged to Clara Abbott."

  Grace smiled. "I know, honey. She wanted you to have it, and so she mailed it to my mother before she died and asked that she give it to you in due time. Before Mother passed, she and I had a long talk-about a lot of things. She gave ne this necklace and made me promise I would bring it to you."

  "But-how would your mother know Miss Abbott?" Confusion wove its spindly fingers through Emma's mind.

  "They were sisters."

  "Oh." That information took a moment to settle.

  Grace leaned forward and took a long breath. "This necklace"-she put her hand on Eninia's arm and gently squeezed, her eyes welling up with inexpressible eniotion- "belonged to your grandmother-Ezra's birth mother."

  Jon held to one of Ezra's arms and Luke the other as they mounted the porch steps. "I'm plain tuckered," Ezra mumbled, breaths coming in wheezy intervals.

  "I imagine you are. Going to church was quite a feat for you," Jon said.

  Wes and Elliott had stayed behind, finding folks to visit with in the churchyard. Jon had thanked them profusely for bringing Ezra to the service and, while neither had attended church prior to today, the way folks had welcomed them, he wouldn't be surprised to see them again.

  Jon pulled open the screen door and ushered Ezra inside. A woman he'd never seen before looked up from the settee in the parlor and gave a bright smile,
her eyes crinkling in the corners. He peered at her for just a moment before returning a smile. Emma, who sat in a chair across the room, gave a tentative nod and made eye contact with Jon. The faint ticking of the grandfather clock mingled with a whistling teakettle. She leaped to her feet at the teakettle's tune and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving him to guess as to the newcomer's identity.

  "You must be the Reverend Atkins," the woman said, rising to her feet, her movements nimble as a practiced dancer, her back as straight as the stem of a fresh picked daisy. Lovely was about the only word that came to mind, that and regal.

  "Yes. And you are...?"

  She laughed, a winsome sound, and extended her hand. "Grace. Grace Giles." Something he couldn't begin to discern rippled through his chest. Grace Giles. The Grace Giles?

  She had a wealth of golden brown hair tied back in a bun, a good share of which escaped to fall haphazardly around her oval face. A sprinkling of silver grew in at the temples, revealing a bit about her age. Her handshake was firm yet feminine, her gaze penetrating yet warm.

  "So nice to meet you, Reverend. I've heard about you."

  "Really. All good, I hope. Call me Jon, by the way. And I've heard about you."

  She nodded and swept him with a twinkling gaze; for an instant, lie felt her scrutiny, but just as quickly, she withdrew her hand and looked at Luke. "And you are Luke."

  Pulling back his rounded shoulders, Luke put on his best smile. "Y-yes, ma'am."

  She laughed again, the sound fairly floating on the air, warm and rich. She took his outstretched hand. "Nice to meet you, Luke."

  Luke looked tickled that the stranger knew his name. "Y-yore p-p-pretty," he said.

  She brushed a hand over her throat. "Oh my, well, aren't you a dapper gentleman, and a mighty handsome one at that."

  The lad's iiiouth twisted downward. "D-dapper?"

  "It means you're terribly smart looking," she said.

  Luke tossed back his head and snorted as if she'd just said the funniest thing. The hearty peal made Jon chortle to himself. What a charming woman. He liked her on sight.

  Her eyes made their way to Ezra. Jon swiped him with a sideways glance, waiting for a reaction, noting the tiny flicker above his brows.

  "Grace Giles?" he asked. When he faltered slightly, Jon steadied him with a firm hand. "Yo're that one's been writin' to my girl. You hail from Chicago, do you?"

  If the woman was uncomfortable with the question, she didn't let on.

  "I do. My mother was your aunt Edith. Edith Fielding. Therefore, you and I are cousins."

  Ezra gave a slow nod before tilting his face in a suspicious gaze. "Emma tol' nie."

  "And she told you of my mother's passing, I presume."

  He shifted on tired feet. Jon grew impatient to seat him before he keeled over, but when he tried to guide him to a chair, the fellow kept his feet planted firm. "She did. I'msorry to hear 'bout it. She was-a fine woman."

  "Thank you." Teeth pinching down on her lower lip, Grace leaned forward. "I want you to know she cared about you. She saved every missive you ever sent her."

  "It weren't that many."

  She laid a hand on his arm. "She tried keeping track of you through the years. She would be thrilled to hear the news that you've committed your heart to the Lord. I know she prayed long hours for it."

  "It done took me awhile," Ezra said with a sniff.

  No-name sauntered into the room to check things out, the mangy critter resembling an old shoe with its tongue hanging out. "Luke, why don't you take your dog to the backyard?" Jon said. "He looks like he could use a long drink."

  "'Kay," Luke said. "Union, you of m-mutt."

  Grace watched the unlikely pair exit the room. "What a lovely young nian."

  A light breeze lifted the curtains and stole across the room. Outside, passersby, on their routine Sunday strolls, conversed, competing with the chatter of overhead birds. "Yes, lie's quite something," Jon conceded. "A favorite in the town."

  Eninia entered at that precise moment, rubbing her hands together in a nervous gesture. Something very important had transpired between the women; Jon sensed it in his gut. He tried to discern the look on her face but found it unreadable.

  Lord, be at the center of this situation. Bring it to a peaceful conclusion, whatever it may entail.

  A knot of balled-up nerves rolled around in Emma's chest. This was just too much to take in, she thought, the news that Grace brought with her. Oh, she was plain thrilled that Grace had come-no question there-and not all the news was bad, but it'd caught her so off guard that her stomach felt queasy, her nerves trampled upon.

  Grace believed that Ezra deserved to know the truth about his roots.

  "What good could cone from learning the truth at this stage in his life?" Enna had asked.

  "In his final days, it might do him a world of good, lend some closure to the whole question ofwhy the people he thought were his parents treated him so badly," Grace had said.

  "But that's the part I don't understand. He was the innocent party, and yet they treated him as if he were at fault."

  A wave of compassion such as she'd never experienced turned over in her heart, and the notion that she might finally be able to eke out some forgiveness for her father parked itself in the bottom of her soul.

  She stole a glimpse at Jon and found him studying her, as if trying to size up her turmoil. Another wave of nausea poked at her gut. Did lie have to make her feel so vulnerable, staring at her like that through cobalt eyes, peering into her soul as if it were transparent?

  "I think niy father should sit," she said, averting her gaze to Ezra and thinking he looked especially pale.

  "Yes," Jon said, steering hint to the divan. The women sought a place to sit while Jon situated Ezra then dropped into the cushion next to him.

  "Tell its about you, Mrs. Giles, or is it Miss?" Jon asked.

  "Neither. It's simply Grace. Mind you, I'm a widow, but I prefer not to be reminded of that, so hearing my first name used keeps me feeling young."

  He laughed. "All right then, Grace, what do you do with yourself back in Chicago?"

  Her lips curled up, and she clasped her hands together in her lap. "My late husband started a restaurant several years ago, which I've been maintaining ever since his passing. It's proved quite profitable, but I'm nearing the point of selling out. As I was telling Emma, the city life is wearing on ff me.

  "Why not come to Little Hickman and open a dining establishment here? A fine eatery is sorely missing in this town."

  "The saloon serves food, but it ain't no good," Ezra put in. "The stuff she serves over there is enough to choke a rat. Probably has, in fact. Ever hear o' beef liver soup?"

  Grace wrinkled her nose. "Never."

  "Wull, she serves it 'cause it's cheap, and I swear one bowl of it turns a body green."

  "Pa."

  "It's true."

  "I think it's a wonderful idea, Grace, you moving here," EYnma said. "You could stay upstairs with me. I've plenty of room."

  "Well, I wouldn't impose on you for long. I'd find my own place in short order. Are there any vacant buildings in the town, or any empty lots for erecting a two-story structure? I could do what I've done in Chicago, live above my establishment. Oh, I can actually envision myself living out my remaining years in this wonderful coniniunity."

  It was clear she'd given thought to the idea long before Jon's mention of it. Imagine her cousin living right here in Hickman. A flutter of pleasure pushed past Emma's bundle of nerves.

  "It'd be a mighty big change for you," Jon said.

  "We ain't no fancy city," Ezra said.

  "But we're friendly," Emma inserted. "And like you said earlier, nature abounds."

  Grace laughed, giving Eninia an endearing smile. "You don't need to convince me, honey. I've been thinking about this for quite awhile."

  Just as she'd thought.

  Jon hauled one leg up by the ankle and propped it across the other knee. "Hm
," he said. "There aren't any vacant buildings that I know of, but there is that empty space at the end of Main Street right across from the new church. Seems to me that'd be an ideal location. You could talk to Clyde Winthrop, who owns the property. Matter of fact, he might know of some other spots around town if that one's not available. He owns a good share of real estate in these parts. I'd be glad to talk to him if you want."

  "Oh, would you? It'd be nice to have you broach the subject with him first. Then I can follow up."

  Jon's enthusiasm seemed to match that of Emma. "You'd need to contract with a builder outside of Little Hickman, though, probably go into Nicholasville or Lexington."

  "I could do that," Grace said, eyes twinkling with delight.

  The three of then conversed for the next several minutes while Ezra dozed.

  At 1:15, Wes and Elliott rambled up the steps, all loud talk, and walked through the door. Their jaws dropped, however, at their first glimpse of the attractive female visitor.

  Over supper, Jon watched Emma's boarders eat with particular care. Gideon had tucked in his shirt, Charley had greased his hair down, and Elliott looked to have shaved for the second time that clay. Wes sat straighter than normal and cleared his throat often, and Harland, who wore dirt beneath his fingernails like he would an article of clothing, had scrubbed them spotless. Even Luke sported a new shirt. It appeared every male there, with the exception of Ezra, had cone to the table with the intent of impressing Grace Giles.

  Jon had to admit she was an appealing woman, full of zing and zip, a regular fireball. Even Ezra had warned to her stories. Every time Jon had tried nudging him to his room to rest, Ezra declined the offer, seeming more interested in hearing what his cousin had to say.

  And she'd said plenty, from her accounts of her childhood and the wonderful parents who had raised her and her two sisters to her recollection of her several aunts and uncles-and grandparents-all of which would have been Ezra's family as well.

  "We had plenty of reunions," she'd said.

  "I never went," Ezra said. "Least, not that I can recall. Most tines niy folks kep' me hone or just didn't go to family gatherin's."