The Preacher's Wife

by Brandi Boddie

  “I saw you, though.” Her eyes swept over Marissa’s dress. “You’re the one Linda sold my fabric to.”

  “You told her you didn’t want it.”

  “Look at the mess you made of it. A potato sack has more elaborated stitching than that rag.”

  Sophie’s escort, Chad Hooper, approached.

  Sophie continued, unaware that Mr. Hooper was in earshot. “Tell me how Rowe would choose to take a woman like you to the fair instead of me.”

  “You really would have to ask him yourself.”

  “He had to take you out of town in order to be seen with you.”

  “Perhaps he did.” Marissa excused herself, nodding courteously to Sophie’s escort. “Good day to you, Mr. Hooper. Sophie.”

  Sophie’s eyes bulged when she realized her escort had heard everything. Marissa left them to sort it out. Her own escort was a short distance away.

  Rowe handed her a raspberry tartlet while nibbling on his own. “Where did you run off to?”

  “Not off. Into.” She indicated with a nod of her head in the opposite direction.

  Rowe saw Sophie and her escort behind them. “Oh.”

  “Sophie’s starting to bicker already. Is there any way we can avoid having an unpleasant afternoon?”

  He swallowed the rest of his tartlet. “Let’s not allow that to spoil things for us. I’ve been hearing lively music all day. Come. Let’s see who’s onstage.”

  Marissa groaned. So much for their getting away from the people of Assurance.

  Rowe didn’t see how Marissa could be surprised or upset by Sophie’s presence. A fair would attract both citizens of Claywalk and Assurance. If Miss Charlton wanted to bicker and quarrel, the best thing to do was not give her an audience.

  Five o’clock arrived to the strains of the fiddles. He gazed surreptitiously at Marissa as she tapped her foot and clapped in time to the music.

  That dress was a work of art on her figure. The blue embroidery curled about the bodice to wrap itself around the narrowest part of her waist. She shimmered like an angel when the sun cast light upon the sheer fabric.

  The tallest woman he had ever danced with stood about five feet four. How would it be to glide along to music with the tall, regal grace that was Marissa?

  The grand stage began to clear for the dance. Couples walked upon the wood floor, hand in hand. Men who came by themselves searched for a lady with whom to partner. Younger ladies in their teens rushed to their escorts and beaux, giggling, while the older, more mature women waited alongside the stage, anticipating being asked to dance.

  Rowe noticed the attention being paid Marissa. More than a few passing glances came from the men as they started to approach her. He offered his arm before they had a chance. “May I have this dance before I have to get in line?”

  A tiny smile played across her lips. “I would be delighted to dance with you.”

  The band played a waltz. Her eyes sparkled, displaying nervousness and gaiety all at once as she followed him out on the floor. “Let’s see if I remember this.” While taking her hand, he stepped forward on his left foot and counted the beats. “One…two, three, one…two, three.”

  Rowe had been told he was a natural dancer, with good timing and a firm lead, but he felt like an amateur compared to Marissa. He missed steps, stumbling once when his nerves got to him. Thankfully she didn’t seem to notice.

  He spun her around the floor, past other dancers and onlookers whose faces he recognized. For a moment they were not themselves but other people free from their problems and recent disputes. Here he was, a man unencumbered with pain over his deceased family, free from the weight of Assurance’s expectations of him to be the figure of moral authority. Marissa was a woman without her sordid past and current troubles, a grand lady who had but one aim, to dance with the man whose eyes saw only her.

  “Pardon me. Might we trade partners?” Chad Hooper tapped Rowe on the back. Sophie appeared demurely beside him.

  Rowe met Sophie’s blue, saucer-plate eyes with their gold fringe. He was reluctant to let go of Marissa’s womanly softness for Sophie’s petite fragility. Something about another man holding Marissa, in time with music or not, struck chords of possessiveness in him. Mr. Hooper, on the other hand, appeared too eager to please his escort to cause any rivalry.

  Rowe gave Marissa’s hand over to the other man. The look she fired off at him said that he should have refused Chad’s request. It was obvious that Sophie had put poor Mr. Hooper up to it.

  Chad danced off with Marissa while Sophie rose on her tiptoes to rest her hand on Rowe’s upper arm, as she couldn’t reach his shoulder. Rowe didn’t like her perfume. It was too powdery.

  “My, you do look handsome today, Reverend.”

  “Thank you, Miss Charlton. Your face shows your delight at being here.” He placed his hand up against her shoulder blade for the dance position. His hand could have easily covered over half the span of her waist, she was so tiny.

  Sophie waited patiently for him to begin. He led her into the dancer’s circle, where Marissa and Chad moved just along the edge. Though he was forced to bend over to keep from jerking her off her feet, she seemed to take pleasure in every moment of what felt like complete awkwardness to him.

  “How are you enjoying the fair?” she asked.

  “I’m enjoying it very much, Miss Charlton. I haven’t had such entertainment in years.”

  “How grand to hear that.” Even her teeth were dainty when she smiled.

  Everything about her was practiced and artificial. Yet if he had never met Marissa, would he have clamored for Sophie’s attention like so many men? Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting. The proverb floated in his head.

  “You know, these country festivals aren’t as good as the ones I remember in New Orleans, but the people here do their best.”

  Rowe considered a response to her half-compliment, half-criticism. “I doubt much of the country can compare to the culture of your beloved city.”

  Her curls bobbed as she inclined her head in resignation. “I learn to make do. Now I must applaud you for escorting Miss Pierce to the fair.”

  “Why, may I ask?” Narrowly avoiding a misstep that would have crushed her toes, he smoothly regained himself.

  “For reasons previously mentioned, no other man could chance his reputation being seen with her. But you, as a preacher, well, no one would think anything scandalous of you.”

  “I’m afraid I still don’t understand your meaning.” His manner grew short and curt as his movements fell out of rhythm to the music.

  Like using a pair of fans, she batted her thick fringe of lashes. “I don’t think I could be clearer, Mr. Winford. It’s obvious that you’re taking pity on her.”

  Rowe stopped dancing. His feet planted themselves into the stage. Dancers twirled at the last moment to avoid crashing into the two of them. The male leads gave him vicious looks.

  “No, no, Miss Charlton, that is assuredly not why I am escorting Miss Pierce. She is a remarkable woman that I find very engaging. You are terribly mistaken.”

  Sophie’s face colored at having been declared erroneous. “She’s fooled you. You are placing yourself in the clutches of a harpy.”

  Rowe dropped his arm from her back. “I’m getting a bit heated in this climate. If you don’t object, I will escort you to Mr. Hooper now.”

  Her face colored as though she wanted to throw a fit, but she wouldn’t dare cause a scene. Having no choice, she accepted his arm and allowed him to lead her over to where Marissa and Chad still danced.

  “Calling it quits already?” Chad released Marissa as Rowe neared.

  “I’m afraid so. Miss Charlton’s presence is consuming enough that I wasn’t able to speak and dance at the same time.” Without pause he took Marissa’s hand and spirited her away.

  Marissa glanced over her shoulder repeatedly as the distance widened between them and the other pair. “I believe our preacher didn’t provide the exact truth
for why he stopped dancing.”

  Rowe increased his pace. Must she always remind him of his occupation, first and foremost? Was that all she saw him as? “Would you have me tell Mr. Hooper that his companion’s presumptuous manners are insufferable?”

  “You could be doing him a tremendous favor.”

  “He more than likely knows but is still smitten by the appearance she puts on for the world to see.” Turning to face Marissa, he took her into the waltz position again as the music changed. “I came to the fair with you, and I want to enjoy our time together. You are by far the loveliest woman here.”

  She stared at him with her almond-shaped eyes. He felt like he was gazing upon Solomon’s lover from Song of Songs, because to him she was every bit as lush, vibrant, and full of passionate life as the descriptive words of that book.

  As they waltzed, Rowe battled against Sophie’s claims. If Sophie thought he was doing all of this out of pity for Marissa, the other congregation members assumed it too. Or thought worse, as Mrs. Rheins so thinly concealed. Was he prepared to deal with the whispers of his congregation?

  The music sped to a polka, and Rowe led her again around the stage. Marissa abandoned herself in complete joy as he wheeled her about in a series of unexpected turns. She threw her head back, laughing delightedly as they skipped by everyone.

  By all appearances he was courting her, plain and simple. If a list were made, all of his actions would further prove such intent. He gave her presents. A gift of a replacement Bible was still a gift. He visited her for supper and escorted her to a social function. If she had a male relative, that gentleman would demand to know what Rowe’s aims were. And to be honest, Rowe had no precise way of answering. Was it infatuation or the Lord leading him out west for a real chance to begin again?

  The polka ended. Marissa’s dress still twirled when he released her. Her cheeks were flushed a dark, dusky pink. “I’ve danced with plenty of men before, but I can’t remember it ever being this exhilarating.”

  So does she find me exhilarating, or my dancing? Rowe’s blood pumped harder in his veins as she dabbed moisture from her brow with a handkerchief. Her skin glistened in the setting sun, reflecting its gold, red, and tawny rays.

  “I don’t think I’ll have enough stamina for another number,” Rowe commented between breaths. “You dance wonderfully, Marissa.”

  “Thank you, but I had a good lead.”

  He gazed heavenward. “The sun’s beginning to set. We should head back to town before it gets dark.”

  They made the walk to the wagon. Marissa climbed in as Rowe loaded their prizes and souvenirs into the back. After making sure the souvenirs were stationary, he climbed up beside her. They sat silently during the ride out of town, enjoying the music that slowly faded into the distance behind them.

  At length Marissa sighed.

  “What’s the matter?” Rowe asked. “Did you want to stay and dance longer? We can still turn back if you like.”

  “No. I was just thinking…tongues will surely wag tomorrow morning in church. Sophie will assist in that part, I’m sure.”

  “It’s easier said than done, but you have to get past what they think.” Rowe wanted the message to apply to himself too.

  “Yes, but you could lose your position because of me. I don’t want you to be without work.”

  “And you think that not being seen together will solve that problem?”

  Staring at her hands in her lap, she voiced her reasoning slowly. “I don’t want your reputation sullied because of your association with me. A minister can’t do what other men can. That’s why the locksmith can spend the night gambling while the church organist had better be at home with his wife. The integrity of what the locksmith produces is not compromised by his card dealing.”

  “You’re comparing what we have to something immoral and illegal in most states. Seeing you is not a crime, Marissa. I can’t control how people choose to think about us.”

  “Us?”

  “Us.” He reached across and tilted her chin. Marissa gazed at him with wide, uncertain eyes, the brown irises growing larger as the sun kissed her face. God, what am I doing? Words spilled out of him. “I feel something very strongly and deeply for you. I’ve been wrestling with it ever since we met. Can you tell me that you haven’t experienced similar feelings?”

  Her countenance registered hurt, concern, the possibility of rejection. As if he could be the one to reject her.

  “I would be lying to you if I said no,” she said quietly.

  He leaned his face in, close to hers. Marissa shut her eyes. Closing the distance between them, he felt her whisper-soft lips as he kissed her. Lingering, tender warmth remained with him when he withdrew.

  “I’m scared for you,” she whispered.

  “Don’t be.” He kissed her mouth again, harder, then pressed his lips against her temple. The result was a mix of pleasure and a sweet yearning to savor the moment. “I can withstand a few rumors and useless chatter.”

  “You know it will be more than that. Will the town take your sermons to heart from now on? I want to believe you, but I think you’re wrong.” She tried to hide her desire for more kisses, more embraces, but the effort with which she held herself back was visible. Rowe felt the longing too and controlled himself by moving away to the end of the wagon bench.

  They continued the journey home, each absorbed in their own thoughts. The horses pulled the wagon along until they reached fellow travelers going in the same direction. As Rowe observed their happy, contented faces, he wondered just how many would be frowning at him in church tomorrow morning.

  Chapter 19

  RAIN AND STORMS assaulted the town for the next three days. The hot late August air brought with it frequent lightning that lit up the night and hail that rattled off the roofs of homes and storefronts. The storms were so bad that church was canceled Sunday morning. Marissa breathed a sigh of relief. Without church as a site for the gossip mill, perhaps chatter about her and Rowe being seen at the fair would die down more quickly.

  Rain muddied the streets of Assurance until midweek, when the sun came out and dried the mud to grayish clay. The wind followed right after, blowing unlatched doors wide open and sending mud clusters, dried grass, and sagebrush tumbling down the streets. The townsfolk who were able to come out of their homes to resume chores and business were not pleased with having the extra cleaning to do.

  Marissa was sweeping the entranceway of the store when Rowe came loping up the steps. He was hatless, wearing a work shirt stained with mud and sweat marks. The sleeves were rolled up above his large forearms. Her heart sped to an impromptu drum tap.

  “I’ve come to see if my work boots came in,” he announced, but he shot her such a look of boyish abashment that she knew it was an excuse. “I just helped a man in town with a roof leak. Now I have to raise my fence that sank in the mud, so some new work boots would sure help out.” To further his explanation he held up the metal toolbox he carried in one hand.

  “You really are the strangest preacher I’ve ever seen. Reverend Thomas never carried building tools around town.” Marissa stepped inside the store to return the broom to its corner near the back wall.

  “That may have had something to do with his age, from what I hear.” Dropping the toolbox, Rowe followed her inside.

  “You shouldn’t be in here when you’re so downright muddy and filthy.” Marissa stuck her nose out and sniffed. “You don’t smell too good either.”

  His face fell, like that of a crestfallen child. “I’m sorry. I just couldn’t resist the chance to see you after being cooped up in all this rain. I promise to be spanking clean tomorrow if you go boat riding with me on the lake.”

  Marissa found herself carried along by his boyish enthusiasm. “Where did you get a boat?”

  “Mike O’Hare lent me his fishing boat as thanks for the roof. So, you’ll come to the lake tomorrow afternoon?”

  “Yes.” Her hands tingled with excitement. She could
n’t let this go too far, as tempting an idea as it was. He may pretend that their dalliances would have no effect on his ministry, but she knew better. The lake would provide a quiet place to tell him. What was one boat ride?

  His jubilant smile told her he expected it would be more than a boat ride.

  She retreated, dropping her voice in an implied warning. “I will meet you there at two.” A final meeting to end what barely had started. Then they would go their separate ways. It was the right thing to do. Necessary. Painful.

  “I’ll hold you to your promise.” Innocently ignoring the warning in her tone, he went outside to pick up the toolbox. “You left your dustpan out here,” he called through the screen door.

  “I’ll get it when you leave.”

  He climbed down the steps, giving her a smile so generous that Marissa felt its effects in her heart long after he was gone.

  Mike O’Hare’s fishing boat proved to be the right size for the two of them. Made of lightweight but solid birchbark and white cedar, it had two planks for seating and a set of oars attached in the center. It glided smoothly out on the water like a fish venturing toward open sea.

  Marissa trailed her fingers across the lake’s cool, rippling surface. “I’m glad we were able to do this.”

  Rowe manned the oars. “I am too. This morning I thought it was going to rain again.” Varying shades of gray clouds smeared the sky.

  “The weather here can be fickle. What looks like a bad storm one minute will be blue skies the next. See how the wind’s moving those clouds.”

  “It’s moving the boat too.” Rowe increased his control of the oars.

  They talked as the boat drifted farther toward the middle of the lake. Rowe told her of life growing up in Virginia, fishing in the James River with his wild brothers. Marissa listened intently as he described his scholarly father, his farm-laboring grandfather, and the humorous arguments they had over the dinner table. When he described his late wife, Josephine, she heard the bittersweet fondness of remembrance in his voice.

  “We never get over the death of someone, do we?” she asked.