“I see.” A grin tipped the corners of his mouth. A captive audience.
Josie tilted her blond head to one side and regarded him frankly. “Yeah. But I figure it’ll save us both a heap of trouble if we just forget about it and tell her you gave it to me good.”
“Josie! That would be a lie.”
She released a long-suffering sigh. “Oh, all right. But can we make it short? Reverend Cahill, back home, used to yak and yak and yak until I almost fell asleep.”
Troubled by his niece’s lack of reverence, Anthony grabbed a horse blanket from a peg on the wall and spread it out on the barn floor. “Sit yourself down on this blanket, little girl, before I tan your hide.”
Anthony “yakked” about kindness and mentioned every fruit of the spirit from Galatians chapter five while he finished cleaning the barn. Hanging the pitchfork high on the wall, he added a mention of the Golden Rule to his lecture for good measure.
“All right. I think that’s enough for tonight.” He glanced at Josie. “Let’s go inside for supper.”
With a sleepy yawn, the little girl stood.
Anthony shook his head. He doubted she’d heard a word of his exhortation any more than the animals had heard his brilliant sermon.
“Uncle Anthony?” Josie asked as they headed back to the house.
“Yeah?”
She looked up at him, her angelic face filled with question. Her eyes serious, she shook her head sadly.
Anthony’s heart leapt. Maybe he’d made an impression after all. “What is it, Sweetheart?”
“Well, I was just wondering. . .”
“Yes?”
“Do you think there’s any hope for that poor cow’s soul?” Merriment filled her eyes as she giggled and dashed off across the yard.
“Why you little. . .” Anthony followed her. “You’d better run, you little stinker. When I catch you, I’m going to tickle you until you recite all the books of the Bible. . .backwards.”
Two
Tarah set a platter laden with golden fried chicken on the lacy tablecloth covering a long, wooden table. She bent and gave her father a kiss on the cheek, then took her seat.
Grateful to be back in familiar surroundings after her harrowing first day of teaching, Tarah smiled at her ten-year-old sister, Emily, sitting to her right. The family members joined hands in preparation for their mealtime prayer.
Pa’s gaze roved the table and settled on Ma’s bowed head. “Cassidy?”
Cassidy glanced up, her wide, green eyes filled with question.
“Where’s Sam?”
“He asked permission to eat supper with Camilla and her family. I didn’t think you’d mind.”
An amused glance passed between them.
Pa sent Tarah a teasing wink. “Looks like we might be attending Sam’s wedding before his big sister’s if she doesn’t stop sending those young men away.”
Tarah gasped.
“Dell!” Ma frowned and shook her head.
“What?”
“I–it’s okay, Ma.” But Pa’s comment stung and only proved a painful reminder to Tarah that she was nineteen years old with no prospects for marriage. She felt her defenses rise. Was it her fault all the boys she’d admired in school had grown up to be dolts? Well, all except Anthony.
Ma stared pointedly at Pa. “Let’s just say the prayer, shall we?” she suggested.
Pa shrugged, still wearing a confused frown. Finally, he bowed his dark head and prayed. “Father, we thank You for the many blessings You’ve given this growing family. We ask You to watch over Mother while she’s away visiting George and Olive. Thank You for Tarah’s new teaching position. May You give her wisdom to teach with grace and patience.” He cleared his throat. “And we thank You for the new blessing You are bringing into our lives. A new baby for us to love and. . .”
Emily squealed and leaped from her chair. “Ma!”
“Emily St. John!” Cassidy scolded. “Your pa’s praying.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered and slowly returned to her seat.
Pa grinned. “In Jesus’ name, Amen.”
Emily’s carrot-orange braids flew behind her as she sprinted around the table and grabbed Ma, hugging her tightly.
Luke’s face glowed bright red, and he gave Pa a sheepish grin. “Another baby, huh?” He jerked a thumb toward the twins sitting in high chairs on either side of Ma. “Just when those two were starting to grow up and not cry all the time.”
Tarah noticed her stepmother’s eyes cloud over with hurt until Luke gave her a wide grin. “Hope it’s a boy!”
A relieved smile curved Ma’s lips. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Feeling her father’s gaze upon her, Tarah rose and embraced her stepmother, then her pa. “Congratulations,” she murmured. “This is wonderful news.” She sank back in her chair.
“Can we name him Pete?” All eyes turned to Jack. Even at seven years old, his soft brown eyes and mop of unruly curls gave him an angelic appearance.
“That’s a dumb name,” Emily said haughtily, still standing close to Cassidy. “Besides, it’s going to be a girl, and we’ll call her Audra.”
“Pete!”
“Audra!”
“That’s enough, you two,” Pa said firmly. “There’ll be plenty of time to discuss names later on. Right now you better sit down so we can eat this supper your ma cooked before it gets cold.”
The revelation that Cassidy was expecting another child came as no surprise to Tarah, who, as the eldest of seven children, had recognized the symptoms in her stepmother over the past couple months. She wasn’t unhappy about the coming baby, but the house was getting cramped as it was. With trees so scarce, Pa and the boys would have to haul sandstone from the river to build onto the house.
Lord, it would be a lot easier all the way around if You would just send me a husband. One or two of the kids could have my room. You know, Anthony Greene came back. . . .
She stopped, uncomfortable with the thought that she might be trying to manipulate the Lord.
Well, she wasn’t exactly telling God something He didn’t already know. Besides, she reasoned, maybe God sent Anthony back here so we could be married. It never hurts to ask.
She bit into a slice of buttered bread and tried to focus on what Pa was saying.
“How was your first day, Teacher?” Pa grabbed a piece of fried chicken from the platter and sent Tarah a proud grin.
“Anthony Greene showed up after school,” Luke piped in before Tarah could swallow her food and answer.
The bread lodged in her throat, and she coughed profusely while Emily pounded her on the back.
“Tarah,” Ma said, “are you all right?”
Nodding, she grabbed her water glass to wash down the mouthful of bread, sending Luke a warning glance over the rim.
He raised his eyebrows and sent her one right back.
Tarah’s temper flared. So that was how he wanted to play it. If she mentioned his unruly behavior, he’d tease her about Anthony in front of the whole family. At least Sam was off having supper with Camilla Simpson and her family, or the temptation might have been too great for Luke to resist despite their agreement.
Over a barrel, she drew a deep breath and decided to let it slide. After all, she had his promise of good behavior for a whole week. A promise he’d better keep if he knew what was good for him.
Apparently oblivious to the silent exchange between his children, Pa pointed his empty fork at no one in particular and gave a reflective frown. He glanced at Tarah. “Anthony went to seminary back East, didn’t he?”
Tarah nodded, glad the focus was off her disappointing first day of teaching.
“What are you thinking, Dell?” Ma asked.
Tarah looked from one to the other. The love evident in their eyes for each other sent a small ache to her heart. Would she ever find someone to love? With Anthony’s return to Harper, her prospects seemed to be looking up. But only if it’s Your will, she hastily added.
>
“Well, my darling,” Pa said with a grin. “I was thinking we just might have us a preacher.”
Ma clapped her hands together, causing the nearly two-year-old twins, Hope and Will, to do the same. “What a wonderful idea!”
“I’ll talk it over with the rest of the council at the meeting tonight,” Pa said. “And if they agree, I’ll probably swing by the Greene farm on the way home. So I might be a little later than usual.” He winked at Tarah. “Think you’d mind sharing the schoolhouse with the preacher for Sunday services, little teacher?”
“Tarah wouldn’t mind sharing. . . ,” Luke began.
Tarah shot him another warning glance.
“Of course she won’t mind,” Ma said, wiping a glob of potatoes from baby Will’s plump chin.
Anthony. . .to be the new preacher. Tarah’s heart skipped a beat, and she released a dreamy sigh. What would it be like to be a preacher’s wife?
❧
Tarah watched proudly as Anthony strode to the rough-hewn wooden pulpit, normally used only twice a year when the circuit rider came through. She’d waited nearly a week to see him again.
Dressed in a black coat, black trousers, and a white shirt, he looked awfully handsome. She smiled at his crooked tie. Once they were married, she’d take care of that little problem for him.
Tarah caught her breath when he looked directly at her as though guessing her thoughts. Almost sure that wasn’t possible, she nevertheless felt herself blush to the roots of her hair. Anthony’s gaze moved past her, sweeping the congregation. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed hard.
Say something, Anthony.
She watched in concern as his face paled. He grabbed onto the pulpit, his knuckles growing instantly white.
Oh, no, he’s going to pass out cold!
A gust of cool, autumn wind blew into the little schoolhouse-turned-church as the door swung open. Tarah noticed Anthony relax visibly as the latecomer turned the congregation’s attention from him to the back of the room.
He looked at her again. Tarah nodded encouragement and returned his smile. “You can do it,” she mouthed. She pointed upward, hoping to remind him God would be his helper. His grin widened, and he nodded back to her, then cleared his throat to regain the congregation’s attention.
“Excuse me,” someone whispered from the aisle next to Tarah.
Irritated to have her attention drawn away from Anthony, Tarah glanced up. Louisa Thomas. What did she want?
“May I sit next to you?” the young woman whispered. “There’s nowhere else.”
Tarah cast a furtive glance around the tiny room, hoping to spy an empty seat and send her on her way. When her search proved futile, she sighed and scooted over.
“I’m so glad I didn’t miss Anthony’s sermon. Doesn’t he look marvelous?” Louisa whispered. “It was worth getting up early to watch him for an hour.”
Jealousy stabbed at Tarah’s heart. She frowned. “Shh.”
Louisa didn’t even have the grace to blush for disrupting the service. She looked at Anthony and gave him a broad you-may-begin-now smile.
Temper flaring, Tarah inched a little farther away from the bothersome flirt and bumped into old Mr. Moody, already nodding off on the other side of her. He jerked his head up. “Thanks, little lady,” he said aloud, sending her a wink. “Do that again next time you hear me snoring.”
The building rumbled with muffled laughter.
Humiliated, Tarah sank down in her seat. It would be a mercy if the floor would open up and swallow me right now, Lord.
Anthony cleared his throat again.
Finally!
“Thank you all for coming,” Anthony began in a shaky voice. “I’d like to begin with a word of prayer.”
Relieved for the chance to close her eyes and shake off the embarrassment, Tarah bowed her head.
“Oh, most precious heavenly Father,” he began, dropping his voice at least two notches. “We thank Thee for the opportunity to assemble together in Thy most holy presence.”
Tarah frowned. Was it her imagination or was he trying to be impressive in his prayer? She felt a niggling disappointment creep through her.
People were beginning to shuffle when he finally said “amen” a good five minutes later.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Tarah waited for the sermon to begin. Anthony glanced at his notes for a minute, took a long, slow breath, then stared gravely from the pulpit.
“For God so loved the world,” he began, “that He gave. . .”
The tension eased away from Tarah’s shoulders and she felt herself relaxing.
His voice strengthened. “Now if God gave His only Son—a sacrifice on the altar of sinful and greedy men—do you dare keep yourself back from His free gift of salvation?”
The flimsy pulpit shook as Anthony’s hand slapped down hard on the wooden surface.
Tarah started at the suddenness of the action. Beside her, old man Moody jerked his chin from his chest. “What? Amen, Preacher!”
Louisa giggled, starting a chain reaction throughout the room, and soon everyone was laughing.
Anthony’s face turned a deep shade of red, and he glanced back down at his notes. When the laughter died, he eyed the congregation and continued as though nothing had occurred. “Salvation bought with the blood of God’s innocent Son?”
❧
“You ever see a person sweat that much before?” ten-year-old Emily asked that afternoon at dinner.
“Emily,” Ma admonished, “don’t be rude.”
But Tarah noticed Ma placed a napkin to her mouth to hide her smile.
“I saw Mr. Gordon sweat worse than that during harvest last year,” Luke offered. “’Course that was before Doc Simpson made him lose all that fat. I thought ol’ Anthony was going to start dripping on the floor.”
“Luke!” Ma said, now nearly choking to keep from laughing aloud.
Pa’s blue eyes twinkled. “He did get quite a lather going, didn’t he?”
Unable to suppress her mirth any longer, Ma laughed until tears rolled down her cheeks. Pa threw back his head and joined her. And, of course, the children couldn’t resist.
Sam slapped his hand down on the table, sending half of the utensils flying. “ ‘You,’ ” he said, lowering his voice in imitation of Anthony—a very poor imitation, in Tarah’s opinion. “ ‘I mean, you!’ ”
Tarah stared at her family with indignation. “I thought Anthony did a fine job,” she said with a toss of her head.
The room suddenly grew quiet as her family stared at her, each face registering the same look of disbelief.
Looking around the table, Tarah released a sigh of concession. “Oh, all right. So he didn’t do that great. But, honestly, it was his first time to preach.”
Ma sobered, her gaze searching Tarah’s face. Her expression softened and her lips curved in a smile of understanding.
Unable to abide the scrutiny, Tarah felt her cheeks flush as she averted her gaze and studied the blue-flowered print on her plate.
“Tarah’s right,” Ma said. “We have to give Anthony a chance to find his own preaching style. I’m sure next week will be better.”
“I sure hope so,” Luke said, shoving a bite of roasted venison into his mouth. “But I’m bringing a bucket to put under him just in case.”
But the next week wasn’t an improvement. Neither was the week after, nor the week after that. By the time Anthony had been there a month, the good folks of Harper, Kansas, were beginning to grumble about the hellfire-and-brimstone preacher.
❧
Anthony awoke with a looming sense of dread. Maybe he could pretend to be sick this morning. His stomach was feeling a mite queasy at the thought of facing his unresponsive congregation once again.
He lay in the predawn stillness, his silent pleas stretching from his heart to God’s.
Why won’t they listen, Lord?
Sometimes he felt like Noah must have, knowing the flood was coming and the
people weren’t ready. The cows and horses paid more attention to his sermons than his shrinking congregation ever did. And he’d noticed people were beginning to avoid him like a bad smell. Everyone but Louisa Thomas. She seemed to genuinely appreciate his messages. Her smiling face was the highlight of his Sunday mornings.
With a heavy sigh, Anthony drew back the covers and sat at the edge of his bed, trying to muster the enthusiasm to get up and begin the new day.
“This is the day which the Lord has made. I will rejoice and be glad in it,” he muttered, feeling anything but joyful. Willing himself to move, he stood and walked barefoot across the small room, poured water into a basin, and grabbed his razor.
A groan escaped his lips as he caught his reflection in the mirror. Even with the overnight scruff of a beard and mustache on his face, he looked like a teenage boy. No wonder no one took him seriously.
Rats! What could he do about his face? He stared into the mirror, wishing for distinguishing gray at his temples or maybe a few lines on his face to indicate wisdom beyond his years. Pushing away the ludicrous train of thought, Anthony sighed and set down his razor. At the very least he would allow his beard and mustache to grow. That would make him look older.
With that decision made, he dressed quickly and headed to the kitchen, following the heady aroma of frying bacon and biscuits baking in the oven.
“Morning, Ma,” he said, bending to plant a kiss on her weathered cheek. He drank in the comfortingly familiar scents of lemon verbena combined with dough.
“Morning, Son.” She directed him to a chair with a nod of her head. “Blane says not to worry about chores this morning. He was up early and finished.”
“That’s a blessing.” Anthony sank into a chair at the end of the table and stretched his legs out, leaning back in his chair. “Where is he?”
“Cleaning up. He should be in here soon.” Ma grabbed a cup from the shelf above the counter. “Coffee?”
Anthony nodded absently. “Thanks,” he said and looked up with a smile as she set the steaming cup in front of him.
“Something troubling you, Son?”
Breathing a heavy sigh, he waved a hand and shook his head. “Nothing anyone but God can help me with, I’m afraid.” Right now, he’d welcome a good talk with his mentor from his church back East. But Reverend Cahill was too far away to be of any help.
Tarah's Lessons Page 2
