She reached the intersection and paused to look up and down the street. Being Friday, there weren’t many people in town. Saturday was the busiest day. But one should always be cautious before stepping into the street. Horses were bigger than people, and wagons couldn’t always stop in time. The most personal of the headstones in the Fairland cemetery proved her point.
Certain the road was safe to cross, Bess pinched her skirt, lifted it as high as her ankles, and darted to the opposite side. She released a sigh of relief as she stepped safely onto the boardwalk. She shook her skirt into place, adjusted her bonnet, and crossed the post office’s threshold.
“Good afternoon, Grace.”
The girl turned from slipping envelopes into cubbies. “Mrs. Kirby, good afternoon.”
Bess frowned. As usual, Grace wore a simple dress absent of ruffles or lace. Her hair—her lovely red-brown hair with enough natural wave to make the saintliest woman envious—was slicked away from her face and battled into a bun no bigger than a doorknob. Bess admired Philemon and Wilhelmina Cristler for taking in their orphaned niece, but couldn’t they have taught the dear girl to be a girl? Why, at last Sunday’s meeting with the social committee ladies, all of whom were close to forty years her senior, Grace hadn’t seemed one bit out of place. The girl had been old for years already. A real shame.
“I’m afraid I don’t have all the mail sorted yet. Mr. Lunger delivered it only half an hour ago.”
Bess waved her hand. “Oh, I’m not concerned about the mail, dear. I came to talk to you about the celebration.”
Grace glanced at the envelopes in her hand.
Bess released a little huff. “I’m interrupting your work. I should have picked a different time. The hours between lunch and supper are the perfect time for me to run an errand. Boarders rarely require my attention in the middle of the afternoon. But I should have realized you would be busy. I’ll go back home.” She turned to leave.
The girl shook her head. “No, please stay. The mailbag was lighter this week than last”—an odd look crept across her features—“so I’ll have everything sorted before people begin arriving to retrieve their mail. I have some time to chat.” She placed the envelopes in a neat stack on the counter and pinned her attentive gaze on Bess. “Did you need my help with something?”
“Actually, I came to offer you my help.” Bess scurried close and rested her linked hands on the counter’s edge. “That is, if you want it.” If Grace was like her dearly departed aunt in areas other than her drab appearance, she would never admit she needed help. But Bess would do her best to ease the young woman’s burdens. If the town gossipers were correct that Grace was on her way to becoming the new minister’s bride, she would benefit from realizing she needn’t do everything herself, the way Wilhelmina did. Wilhelmina might not have worn out at such an early age had she allowed others to assist her. “Are people delivering lots of notes for your uncle’s album?”
Delight broke across the girl’s features, transforming her. “Oh! Yes, the response has been so gratifying.” She gestured to a box at the end of the counter. A few folded pages littered the bottom. “Every day people have stopped by with notes. Uncle Philemon’s album will be filled with memories and well wishes.”
“Have you started putting it together yet?”
Grace nodded exuberantly. Not one tiny strand of hair escaped its confines. Such a pity. “Yes, ma’am. I have two pages done. It’s difficult to find time to work on it without Uncle Philemon seeing. I want it to be a surprise.”
“Hmm…” Bess tapped her chin. “Could you work on it here? He wouldn’t see it if—”
The girl’s mouth dropped open, her eyes growing wide. “Oh, Mrs. Kirby, I couldn’t bring the album here. I’m a voted-in government worker. If I engaged in private activities while on duty, I would betray the community’s confidence in me.”
Did the poor girl have any idea how fastidious she appeared? Bess silently thanked the good Lord for giving her self-control. Without it, she would have dissolved into laughter. She reached across the counter and patted Grace’s hand. “I’m proud you have such a strong moral standard. Of course I wouldn’t ask you to b-betray our confidence.” She swallowed hard, determined not to laugh because, truly, Grace’s stance was admirable rather than amusing. “Then what about working on it at the boardinghouse? I have a nice desk in the corner of my private parlor. You could come and go as you please.”
Grace nibbled her lower lip. “What would I tell Uncle Philemon?”
Bess held her hands outward. “Tell him you’re working on the picnic preparations. It’s the truth, isn’t it?”
Uncertainty pinched the girl’s face.
“And if you leave the album at my place, I can lend a hand. You might not know this, but in my younger days I collected wildflowers and pressed them flat.” What lovely memories of treks through meadows and forests with her Sam were tucked in the corner of her heart. “I have hundreds of dried blossoms. We could use some of them to pretty up the pages.”
“Blossoms? In a man’s album?”
“Why not? Remember the verse about Solomon not being clothed as beautifully as flowers in the field? I think your Uncle Philemon would appreciate the reference.” This girl could benefit from some beautifying, as well. Bess gave a firm nod. “The more I think about it, the more I believe it’s the right thing to do. We’ll work on the album together at my place.” And on Grace’s appearance.
“Well…I could use the help, I suppose.”
She certainly could. Bess nearly shouted in glee. “Wonderful! You come by with these notes after supper this evening. We’ll spend an hour or so working on the album. But now I better let you get back to work before we trample someone’s confidence. I’ll see you this evening, Grace.”
She hurried outside and stepped around the corner. Once out of sight of the post office’s windows, she hugged herself and let her delighted laughter flow. How easily the plan had formed, and all without Grace suspecting hidden motives. Only two more weeks until the new preacher arrived in town. Everyone agreed he was going to need a wife, and everyone agreed Grace would make a wonderful helpmate for a preacher. But what young, vibrant minister wanted an old-looking wife?
They had two weeks to transform Grace from an old maid to a young woman. The Lord only needed a week to create the whole world and everything in it. Bess could surely craft changes in one person’s appearance in twice that time.
She lifted her face to the sun and smiled.
Cooperville, Missouri
Earl
“Look, it just don’t make sense for us all to go chasin’ after Theophil.” Earl stared down his brothers, which wasn’t easy considering their combined bullheadedness. Fool cousin taking off for Iowa before Earl had a chance to talk to him. He needed to catch up to Theophil, and he already had a week’s head start. Ma’d been so happy to have them all home, he hadn’t had the heart to leave right away. So now he had to ride hard and fast. That meant traveling alone.
“I wanna get my hands on him as much as you do.” The words grated from Claight’s throat. In the early morning shadows, his scowl seemed especially menacing. “I got plans for that mealymouthed, yellow-striped traitor.” He placed his clenched fists one on top of the other and twisted.
“An’ I wanna see Claight wring Theo’s scrawny neck.” Wilton sniggered, the sound harsh against birdsong coming to life in the trees.
Earl bit back a growl. Ma and Pa would be waking soon, and Ma’s tears might hold him back for another week. If Claight hadn’t heard him shuffling around while gathering his belongings in their dark room, he’d be gone already instead of standing in the backyard arguing with his brothers.
“Listen to me, wouldja?” He whispered, but he made his whisper as harsh as Pa’s loudest roar. “I planned that heist ten years ago. I gave everybody their parts for the robbery. So Theophil wronged me more than he wronged either o’ you.”
Claight jammed his thumb agains
t his chest. “We all paid with jail time.”
“I know.” Earl leaned in, so close his nose almost touched Claight’s. “An’ none of us would’ve been there if I hadn’t come up with the idea an’ if Theophil hadn’t mutinied. So the revenge oughtta be mine. See?”
“All I see,” Claight said through gritted teeth, “is that you’re gettin’ to have all the fun while Wilton an’ me are stuck here seein’ to chores, listenin’ to Ma’s blubberin’ about how much she missed us, an’ followin’ the old man’s orders.”
“Least you’ll get to eat Ma’s good cookin’ instead of trail food.”
Neither of his brothers’ expressions changed.
Earl searched for a second reason. “You won’t be miles away from Pa’s gin kettle.”
The pair exchanged a look. They were softening.
“ ’Sides, you’re Ma’s favorite, Wilton. She’d be heartbroke if she woke up an’ you were gone again.” He whirled on Claight. “An’ you’re the best one at talkin’ Pa down from one of his rages. Ma needs you close by.”
“You can talk him down, too.” Even though Claight argued, his voice had lost the hard edge. “Doesn’t have to be me doin’ it.”
“I know, but…” His brothers had been plenty mad about him hightailing it home a day ahead of them. Of course, if he’d gone after Theophil right away, he wouldn’t have been forced to listen to their complaints, but Ma’s pleas kept him home. Reminding them who’d bought their ticket might stir the hornet’s nest again, but he didn’t have any other card up his sleeve.
He folded his arms over his chest and fixed his face in a snarl. “I paid your way home. You owe me.”
Claight rolled his eyes. “We didn’t ask you to. That’s hardly a fair reason.”
Earl sagged. Bullying hadn’t worked. Maybe pleading would. He placed his hands on his brothers’ shoulders. “Ma’s gone ten years without her boys. She needs us here. We can’t all go after Theophil an’ give him his just due.”
Neither Claight nor Wilton said anything.
Earl squeezed their shoulders. “Let me be the one to go.”
Claight shrugged Earl’s hand loose. “Go then. Me an’ Wilton’ll stay here an’ see to Pa an’ Ma.” He pointed at Earl. “But don’t you turn sissy an’ hold back, you hear me? You give him all he deserves.”
Earl smiled. “Oh, trust me, brother. When I find him, I’ll give it to him. You can bet I will.”
Fairland, Kansas
Grace
Grace spooned up the last bite of the vegetable stew she’d left simmering on the stove all afternoon. “When I’ve finished washing our supper dishes, I’m going to Mrs. Kirby’s for an hour or two.”
Uncle Philemon set aside his biscuit and offered a mild frown. “You’ve had a long day of working at the post office, cleaning our house, and preparing meals. Aren’t you tired?”
Before supper she’d been ready to collapse, but the thick, flavorful broth swimming with hearty chunks of potatoes, carrots, and tomatoes had revived her. “I’m fine, Uncle. And Mrs. Kirby is expecting me. I can’t disappoint her.”
He patted the back of her hand. “Then I won’t dissuade you from going. But I am puzzled. You spent nearly two hours with her yesterday. It seems to me that was adequate time to plan a simple picnic.”
Grace forced a smile. “You know Mrs. Kirby and the social committee ladies. Nothing they plan could be deemed ‘simple.’ ”
Her uncle chuckled. “I suppose you’re right. Your aunt always said those women could have brought the colonists and English gentry together with one of their events. They do enjoy an opportunity to celebrate.” A twinkle entered his brown eyes. “Dare I suggest they’ll have several parties to plan once Rufus Dille arrives in Fairland? A welcome-to-Fairland party, a betrothal party, and then—”
Grace rose and began clearing the table. “You’re getting ahead of yourself. Ru—Reverend Dille hasn’t even arrived yet, and you are mapping out his life for him.” Even as she mildly berated her uncle, her heart fluttered in hopefulness.
Uncle Philemon chuckled again. “I apologize if I’ve made presumptions, my dear. I only want what’s best for you. Taking care of your doddering old uncle for the rest of your life would be a dreary undertaking.”
She hurried around the table, wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and pressed her cheek to his. “You aren’t doddering. And helping you has been my privilege. I don’t know what would have happened to me if you and Aunt Wilhelmina hadn’t taken me in when Mama and Papa died.”
He set her aside but kept hold of her hands. “You’ve been a blessing to us, Grace, from the moment of your arrival in our lives, but I fear your sense of loyalty will prevent you from forming your own family.” He sighed, shaking his head. “I never understood why the young men in our town passed you by when seeking a wife. Was it because they sensed you were indebted to me? I could only trust God had someone else—someone more worthy—in mind for you.”
He squeezed her hands, a soft smile forming on his face. “I confess that part of the reason I chose Reverend Dille’s application from those sent from the Clineburgh Seminary was because he is an unmarried man.”
“Uncle Philemon…” She tried to step away from her uncle, but he held tight to her hands.
“A man dedicated to God’s service will surely follow the biblical dictates to love and cherish his wife. You deserve a man who will love and cherish you.”
Tears stung and Grace sniffed. Deacon Judd’s fury with her uncle could have been avoided if Uncle Philemon had selected the deacon’s nephew, an ordained minister with a wife and child, as his replacement. To know that her uncle had rejected the nephew’s application in deference to Grace’s desire to be a wife both touched and terrified her. Should she confess she’d already fallen in love with Rufus?
Uncle Philemon gave her hands a squeeze and released her. “By now Mrs. Kirby is probably wondering whether you’ve forgotten her. I need to send you on your way. I’ll do the dishes this evening.” He stood and reached for the bowls.
Grace pushed his hands aside. “Oh, no! You always spend Saturday evening reviewing your sermon notes. I won’t keep you from your studies.”
Uncle Philemon took Grace by the shoulders and escorted her to the door. “I’ll have time to review my notes when the dishes are done. Enjoy your time with the social committee ladies.” He plucked her shawl from the hook by the door and handed it to her. “Go now.”
She couldn’t resist a light laugh. Despite his gray hair and lined face, he looked so young and mischievous. “Very well, I won’t argue with you. But let the dishes dry on the sideboard. I’ll put them away when I get back.”
He teasingly pushed her out the door and closed it behind her. Still chuckling, Grace slipped the shawl over her shoulders and set off for Mrs. Kirby’s boardinghouse. The air was cool but not overly so. Neighbors gathered on porches, and she waved as she passed by. Envy tickled the back of her heart at the sight of husbands and wives and children enjoying a relaxing evening. Would Uncle Philemon’s wishes come true? She dared to pray so. How she wanted to sit on a porch someday with her husband’s arm around her waist and a baby drowsing in her arms.
Mrs. Kirby’s boarders, older people who would otherwise live alone, were enjoying the rocking chairs lining the porch. They greeted Grace by name as she climbed the steps, and she responded with a warm smile.
“Bess said to go right on in.” Mrs. Flynn waved her hand. “I suggest helpin’ yourself to one of her applesauce cookies as you go through the guest parlor. That is, if any are still on the plate. Mr. Swain usually clears everything, includin’ the crumbs, before we turn in each night.”
Mr. Swain beamed a toothless grin. “I was tempted to finish ’em off, I’ll admit it. That Bess, she sure knows how to bake, an’ those applesauce cookies are so soft it’s like eatin’ a cloud. But I left one in there for you, Grace. So you enjoy it, you hear?”
Grace s
wallowed a giggle. “Thank you, I will.” She entered the boardinghouse and passed through the small entry into the foyer. To the right an opening flanked by pillars led to the guest parlor, and a plate with one cookie waited beside a stack of cloth napkins on a marble-topped table. Munching the cookie, she followed a hallway to the much smaller, very plain room behind the open staircase that Mrs. Kirby had claimed as her personal parlor. Grace suspected the little room had once served as servants’ quarters, and her heart warmed, thinking of the older woman’s generosity in taking the least ostentatious area of the house for herself so her boarders could enjoy the nicer rooms.
Mrs. Kirby was sitting at a scarred round table in the corner, applying a pair of scissors to a sheet of paper. She set the items aside and rose, arms extended, when Grace approached. “There you are! I thought perhaps you’d decided not to come.”
Grace embraced the woman and then settled into the second chair at the table. “I spent some time visiting with Uncle Philemon after supper.” Without warning, guilt descended. Her uncle seemed to enjoy their evening chats. Would he waste away of loneliness when she married and moved into her own house?
“Does he suspect what we’re up to?”
“No, ma’am.” Did the whole town suspect what he was up to in bringing in a husband for her?
Mrs. Kirby giggled, a very girlish sound. She sat and picked up the scissors again. “I’m glad. There are few things I enjoy as much as a good surprise. Look at the pages I finished while I waited for you, and tell me what you think.”
Grace examined the square pages, each holding two notes arranged like stair steps. Tiny, dried violets decorated their opposite corners. She would have glued the notes into place side by side with no embellishments if left to herself. She sighed. “Mrs. Kirby, the pages are lovely. Are you sure you want to use so many of your saved flowers, though?”
“Flowers bloom every year. I can always pick more and dry them. But a remembrance book for your dear uncle will only happen once. Let’s make it special.”
Grace and the Preacher Page 5
