Courting Emma (Little Hickman Creek Series #3)

by Sharlene MacLaren

  Emma had shifted in her seat and shot Jon a worried glance. What? he'd asked with his eyes, but she merely shook her head at him.

  Grace leaned forward in her chair. "Grandfather was an old sourpuss. Do you remember anything about him?"

  Ezra looked thoughtful. "Naw. I don't recall much about'im or lily grandmaw. Seemed like lily family was all distant from me. Even my own ma and pa was absent most o' my growin' up years. Them varmints, Howard and Hester, was meaner'n goats on a leash, too. Pushed me around ev'ry chance they got. Called me names crude enough to turn snakeskin inside out. Once I left home I didn't care if I ever laid eyes on 'em again, and I don't know to this day what become of 'em."

  A shadow had darkened Grace's face. "I can't say I know myself. In my opinion, they were ignorant people, not worth worrying over. I was just a wee thing when they were teenagers, but I recall Mania saying they were troublemakers, spoiled rotten, she said. And by the time I was old enough to remember anything about you, you'd already gone out on your own. Mania said she used to bring you to the farm from time to time. Before any of us girls were born. Do you remember that?"

  Sparks lit in the old guy's eyes, and he tried to pull himself upright. "Course I do. I couldn't have been more'n five, though." His lungs rattled noisily. "Your ma used to make fine oatmeal cookies; I remember that. I'd sit high as I could in a chair at her big table and dip a cookie into a tall glass o' milk. Your pa'd take me fishin'. But there cone a (lay I quit goin' there. Couldn't tell ya why. That's when she took to sendin' me little notes."

  "Mania says Aunt Phoebe stopped allowing the visits."

  "My ma, ya mean." Ezra had angled her with a curious look.

  Grace crinkled her finely sculpted brows. "Uh, yes."

  Jon turned his attention back to the polite conversation taking place at the supper table. Ezra nodded off a couple of times while trying to spoon applesauce into his mouth. Jon nudged him awake.

  Emma shook her head in dismay.

  Something was seriously amiss, but Jon couldn't put his finger on it. He determined to corner Emma later that evening.

  exhausted from her exceedingly long day, Grace excused herself to go upstairs shortly after dinner. Emma, standing in the entryway to the music room, book in hand, promised to join her soon.

  "No need to hurry, honey. I'm plum tuckered out and won't be good company. You take your time and don't waste a second worrying over nie. I'll be sleeping before the first stars cone out." She looked around the room at the gawking boarders, all of whom had lingered in the main rooms after supper. "Good night, gentlemen."

  Everyone leaped to his feet when she started up the stairs and wished her a pleasant evening. Jon nearly laughed aloud at the way they stumbled over each other to make the best possible impression. He might have told them none of them would ever measure up to the genteel Grace Giles, but he kept his thoughts to himself.

  "Emma and I are going for a walk," he announced from Ezra's doorway, having seen the fellow to his bed. He stared her down, as if daring her to challenge him.

  Her lips parted in surprise. The book went to her chest, where she clutched it with both hands. "I am-we are?"

  Grace halted midway up the stairs and pivoted. "That's a lovely idea. I'd take a wrap, though, Emma dear; there's a chill in the air."

  Jon pushed down the urge to tell her a wrap wasn't necessary. He'd be glad to keep her warm.

  As if she read his thoughts, Eninia sent him a warning glance. "Well, I suppose a short walk couldn't hurt. I'll get my cape," she said, disappearing into the kitchen.

  "Nice night for a stroll," Wes said, reseating himself on the sofa. "Appears someone's finally caught that girl's eye."

  "Ain't no man ever succeeded in courtin' 'er, far as I know," said Harland.

  Gideon sniffed, pulled a hand down over his sallow face, snagged a cigar from his front pocket, and meandered toward the door. "Ain't no nian ever come along good enough for cour- tin' 'er." Gid angled Jon with a flicker of amusement. "Till now, anyways.

  Jon worried that his heart had jumped to his sleeve several weeks ago. Had everyone been watching his reactions to Emma's every move? He laughed, albeit a weak-sounding chortle. "Don't go jumping the gun, fellas. We're just going for a walk."

  Charlie stood at the base of the stairs just feet away from Jon. He finger combed his reddish-brown hair and gave a churlish grin. "Uh-huh."

  "Ain't got no intentions of lookin' at that full moon, do ya?" Harland asked. That got a rise out of everyone.

  Grace cleared her throat, stilling the laughter. "You men are too much. Why, you'd think you had nothing better to do with yourselves."

  As if duly reprimanded, Gideon opened the door and disappeared to the front porch, Harland walked to the parlor table and removed a deck of cards from the drawer, Wes snatched up the detective novel he'd been reading, and Charley headed for the library.

  Grace winked at Jon and turned on her heel.

  They passed Luke lighting the lamps on Main Street. His grin took up his whole face when he spotted then, the long pole he held in his hands to light the gas lamps weaving precariously. "H-hey, if it ain't Maniss Emma and the p-p-preacher."

  Jon laughed. "You're doing a fine job there, Luke. Don't know what Hickman would do without you." The lad's smile grew wider yet, his pudgy cheeks fairly glowing with pride.

  They strolled by. Emma tried to count the stars that peeked out one by one, marking their spot in the dusky sky. A squirrel bounded down a tree, darted past the post office, and headed for the alley. No-name, who'd cone out from under the porch to follow Jon and Emma up the street, perked up at the sight of the critter, but quickly lost interest when it looked like chasing it would require more energy than he was willing to sacrifice. A few townsfolk mingled about, most on a mission to head home, either on foot or on horseback. Jon lifted a hand to wave at everyone who passed.

  "Is there anyone in this town you don't know?" Emma asked. She'd clasped her hands behind her as they walked, taking care not to brush against him. A case of the jitters made her legs feel weak and quivery.

  Jon gave a quiet laugh. "I suppose I do make it ny business to know folks. Goes with the job."

  His deep voice resonated off the walls of Sam's Livery when they walked past it, setting off a string of whinnying noises from several horses locked away in their stalls.

  "You're a friendly man. You talk to everyone who crosses your path."

  "You meant that in a good way, I hope."

  "Of course."

  Jon kicked a pebble, which sailed several feet. Eninia couldn't help but glance down at the size of his feet. Long best described them. Like the rest of his frame. Why, her head just reached his shoulders.

  "It's nice your cousin traveled all this way to see you."

  Keeping pace with him, she lifted her face to look at him and smile. "You wouldn't believe how shocked I was when she climbed down off Mr. Brackett's rig at noon today and said, `Emma?' Oh, my stars, I almost fainted when she introduced herself." They shared a moment of easy laughter. "She's so-so vibrant and interesting, and pretty, don't you think?"

  He gazed down at her and winked. "No prettier than you.

  The lump that formed in her throat went down hard. "Oh."

  He gave a deep chuckle. "You're a beautiful woman, Emma Browning, and the strangest part is you don't even know it."

  Now it was her turn to kick a stone. "I look in the mirror every niornin', Reverend Atkins. I must be lookin' at someone different than the lady you're describin'."

  When the sidewalk ended, he took her by the elbow and helped her down. They'd reached the end of Main Street. Stopping on the dusty path, he turned her to face him, gently cupped her chin, and leaned in close. "You need to start seeing yourself as God sees you, Emma, and stop putting yourself down. He has a purpose and plan for you that far exceed your imagination. If you could learn to trust Him, that plan would begin to unfold before your eyes."

  His touch set off a warmth that
tingled down her spine. "I think I'ni beginnin' to see that. At least, somewhat."

  "Really?" Surprise nixed with pleasure washed over his face. He pulled back his sturdy shoulders and straightened to his full height. "Tell me about it."

  She bit her lower lip until the pressure stung. "Grace told me some things today, things about my father's past. It's helped to put things in perspective for me, but it's also filled me with concern.

  His expression stilled. "I knew something had you troubled. I saw it in your eyes all day." The hand that cupped her chin now moved to her shoulder. In the distance, a twig snapped and an owl sent out a lonely sounding, "Whoo-whoo." Noname took a moment to poke his nose in a nearby bush then sat on his haunches and sniffed the air.

  "What kinds of things did she tell you?"

  She sucked in a heavy breath. "Well, for starters, the people who raised my pa weren't his real parents."

  He looked only mildly surprised. "Who were they?"

  "His aunt and uncle." A tiny tear pushed out the corner of one eye, and she felt a stinging sensation in her throat. "His birth mother's stepfather raped and-and impregnated her when she was only thirteen."

  A look of disbelief crossed his face as he heaved a choked sigh. "Oh, dear God, what is this world coming to?"

  "When she gave birth to her baby, she didn't know what to do with him, so she gave him to her older sister, Phoebe.

  "Phoebe and Oscar Browning already had a set of fiveyear-old twins, but they agreed to take Ezra off her hands in an attempt to cover up the horrid circumstances of his birth. Truth be told, they didn't really want him though. My father grew up in a loveless home. And the worst part-he never knew why. Apparently, the twins found out about the adoption, but their mother made them swear to keep the hideous family secret to themselves. They managed to do that but found ways to torment him, make it clear they resented him."

  Jon's eyes narrowed as he shook his head. He shot a glance up Main Street then back at her. "Any idea who this birth mother is?"

  "I'll get to that. Accordin' to Edith, Grace's mother, her youngest sister never could convince her mother of the rape. In fact, after confessin' it, her own mother-my great-grandmother-refused to believe her and went so far as to accuse her of seducin' her husband. Can you imagine?

  "My great-grandmother took to her bed and fell into some kind of deep depression, and the only solution was to send Ezra's birth mother away, young as she was. She went to live with her older sister, the one who took Ezra. But it was a bad situation. The girl wasn't much more than fifteen when Phoebe told her to leave, saying it'd be better for all concerned if she simply found a way to disappear. They gave her plenty of money to set out on her own, so she moved to Chicago, far from family-and her son-even changed her last name, so the association with family would cease to exist. In time, Edith and her husband, John, also moved to Chicago. They started having children and decided to settle there.

  "Edith kept informed of Ezra's whereabouts, especially after he left the Browning household, and she relayed the information to Ezra's mother, who by now was filled with deep regret for having abandoned him. When Ezra and his new wife, niy mother, moved to Little Hickman, his birth mother started devisin' a plan for movin' here."

  A light seemed to dawn in Jon's eyes. "You're talking about Clara Abbott, aren't you?"

  Emma paused and swallowed down another hard knot. She gave a slow nod. "Clara was my father's mother, and he never knew it. That's why she took such an interest in my life, left me the boardinghouse, tried her best to look after me, and was so concerned when Ezra failed miserably in bringin' me up.

  A look of wistfulness stole into his face. "If only she'd told hiin who she was. It might have helped."

  Emma nodded. "According to Edith, she was too ashamed. She was afraid what his reaction would be after so many years. She did desert him, after all. She thought he might punish her by refusin' to let her see nie, and you and I both know he was just ornery enough to do that. I was the one light in her life that kept her going, gave her hope."

  Jon's other hand came up to brace her other shoulder. He looked down into her eyes, searching, probing. "This explains a lot. The old fellow never had a clue how to give or receive love, and the death of his young bride only taught him how quickly it can vanish. He didn't have any idea what to do with you, Emilia. He had no clue how to raise you, how to love you.

  "With no role models, he stumbled through the whole process, and then the alcohol only made matters worse. But you have the power to stop that pattern of abuse, give yourself to another, namely our Lord Jesus, and allow Herr, to father you. He can heal your hurts and give you a brand-new beginning. He can help you forgive the years of abuse you had to suffer.

  "If Ezra Browning can seek and find forgiveness for his past, surely you can do the same."

  New tears rolled down her cheeks, making a hot path. Without help for it, she dropped her head into his chest and felt his arms go round her. While in his embrace, he took her to the alley behind the livery. There lie held her and listened to her sobs, wracking sobs that nearly swallowed her whole.

  "I-I want to do that, Jon. I want to ask Hini to cone into ny heart."

  She felt a tiny quiver pass through the preacher's body and heard a gentle sigh. His chin cane to rest on the top of her head and his embrace tightened.

  "Oh, honey, there is no better tine than the present to make that happen. No better time than now."

  "Are you going to tell him?" Jon asked later on their walk back to the boardinghouse. No-nave sauntered along behind, the old mutt's loyal presence contributing to the friendly atmosphere between them. As much as he wanted to hold Emma's hand, declare his love for her, give a hallelujah whoop that all of Little Hickman was sure to hear, he kept his emotions carefully contained, wanting to give her time to ponder on the decision she'd just made. He hadn't even kissed her, although he'd wanted to, longed with all his might to hold her soft body close to his for hours on end. But the Holy Spirit's nudging won out. Too much too soon could scare her off. No, he didn't want to throw his tender love for her into the mix just yet, not when she had so many other things to chew on.

  She looked at him. Her eyes still shimmered with wetness, but in their depths shone peace and resolve, despite the little frown that crinkled her brow. "Grace thinks we should, and I suppose he deserves to know that his mother did love him, even though she never came forward. What do you think?"

  Jon wasn't sure what to tell her. The man's health was precarious. Could such an announcement make natters worse? God, please lend Your wisdom to this situation. Give Grace and Emma peace and direction.

  "I'm afraid I can't tell you what to do. What we can do, though, is pray about it. God will make it clear when the time is right."

  And so they sat on the little bench in front of the post office and bowed their heads while Jon said a brief prayer.

  When the grandfather clock downstairs bonged three times to mark the early morning hour, Emma punched her pillow and turned over. Sleep refused to cone even though exhaustion overtook her body. Beside her, Grace slept like a kitten, every measured breath emitting a tiny snuffling sound. Despite her predicament, she smiled. Who would have thought just twentyfour hours ago that she'd be lying next to her cousin, that her lush of a father would have gone to church to declare his newfound faith and ask forgiveness from his daughter and the entire church community, or that she would have made the same lifechanging decision to follow Christ later that day? And what of the fact that the woman who'd bequeathed her the boardinghouse was her actual grandmother? Her mind reeled.

  If that wasn't enough, there was the matter of Jon Atkins.

  She'd fallen in love with him-head over heels, to be exact. And it blew her away. Two months ago, she hadn't thought herself capable, or even interested, and now here she was fairly swooning over him behind his back. What were the chances of him reciprocating that love? Anybody with a brain knew she wasn't preacher's wife material-no matter that
she'd asked Christ to forgive her sins. She had so far to go in this Christian walk, so much to learn. An ordinary Christian man wouldn't fool with her, let alone the preacher, for mercy sakes! Yes, he'd kissed her that one time, but surely he'd done it in a moment of weakness, perhaps pity-and with obvious regrets-for he'd never attempted it again, not even after she'd prayed the prayer of forgiveness.

  Was he looking for awonian like Hannah Clayton, someone well established in her faith? The Clayton family had attended services Sunday morning, but a handsome young man sat next to Hannah. "That's her old beau from Lexington," Fancy whispered loud enough for anyone within two pews, in front or behind, to hear. "Mrs. Winthrop claims they's gettin' married after Christmas."

  Well, Iris would know if anyone would, Emma thought to herself. For once, she was glad the woman made it her business to learn the affairs of others, for it meant she could rest easy where Hannah Clayton was concerned.

  Her mind spun crazily as she wrestled with her thoughts. Suddenly, they drifted to Ezra. One part of her wallowed in peace such as she'd never known before-she was a Christian now, an actual child of God-while another grappled with what that entailed; how, if at all, it would change her relationship with her father. Could she forgive him? Yes, she'd decided she could. But would God give then time to reshape the snarled mess they'd made of each other's lives? And if He didn't, would it really natter? So much had transpired through the years. Was it even worth the bother of rehashing it? Wasn't it enough simply to let it all go? Moreover, should she tell him about his tangled past?

  She had a sudden need to peek in on him. She got up, donned her housecoat, and tiptoed barefoot down the stairs, frowning at the fifth step when it gave its usual creaky announcement that someone was out of bed.

  As if sensing her presence in the doorway, he jerked awake. "What...?" he murmured, eyes gone big. That set off an unwelcome string of coughs.

  She crossed the room and offered him water, trying to prop him up as he gasped for air. Guilt for having startled him coiled around her like a snake.