The Preacher's Wife Read online

  Dusty laughed. “Guess that’s a good way of sayin’ it. And I’ll keep goin’ after her till one of us gets tired. But please think hard about what you’re gonna do.”

  He tipped his hat to her and went away to the Charlton farm on the other side of the lake.

  Marissa found a secluded spot in the low shade to view the water. After a few minutes she closed her eyes and listened to the sounds of nature. A bird chirped. Water lapped against the bank. The trees seemed to whisper to one another. For moments she felt peace.

  People like you can’t be helped.

  The wind slapped her ears. She opened her eyes with a start.

  Wind ripped atop the lake, destroying its calm surface. The sun fled behind a cloud and left the earth below in a pallid, drab hue. Even small signs of life in the area were gone.

  The bird no longer chirped.

  An odd mixture of dread and hopelessness came over Marissa, its source unknown. Goose bumps formed on her arms before she rose and headed back into town.

  Chapter 5

  IT WAS SO good of you to join us this evening, Reverend,” Mr. Charlton declared.

  Rowe sat at the head of the table, overwhelmed by the amount of food on his plate. Seven platters of beans, chicken, baked ham, rolls, and potatoes decorated the space in front of him.

  Rosemarie, the youngest child, filled his glass with more iced tea so that it threatened to topple over the brim.

  “Given this food, I would say the pleasure is all mine.” He speared a slice of ham with his fork and tasted the juicy, honey-sweetened meat.

  The Charltons were a well-to-do family, but he didn’t think they would go to all of the trouble to showcase it just for him. They sat on upholstered chairs. The dining table was covered by a silk and lace tablecloth. The china was French heirloom. If a butler greeted him at the door, he would have sworn he visited a Virginia country plantation.

  Mr. Charlton smiled over his glass. “You have my daughter to thank for that. She does the cooking since my wife’s been visiting family in Louisiana. Sophie made sure that the ham baked this morning, the beans stewed at the right temperature, and the rolls came from the oven hot and fresh by the time you knocked on the door.”

  Sophie inclined her head demurely. “Why, Daddy, our guest doesn’t want to hear how I slaved over the fire.”

  He went on, goaded by the batting of her golden eyelashes. “This little lady went so far as to choose our Sunday best for dinner attire, even though it’s Wednesday.”

  “Daddy,” she gasped, but still obviously delighted in the attention being given her hard work. “I only want the reverend to see us at our best.”

  “You have a wonderful family, Mr. Charlton,” Rowe said. “A charming daughter and her bright younger siblings. Our Sunday school teacher tells me that Bernard and Rosemarie do well.”

  “And what about you, Reverend?” Sophie began to cut her slice of ham into ladylike morsels. “Do you have family back home in Richmond?”

  The potato he was chewing quickly lost its savory herbed flavor. “Not anymore. They left the city after the war and moved into the southern part of Virginia to raise tobacco. It was my father’s original profession before he married my mother.”

  “So farming is in your blood, then, eh?” Mr. Charlton leaned forward, indicating interest.

  “Yes. My great-grandfather started planting the little tobacco field that grew into what is now the Winford farm. All the generations maintained it.”

  “Your father didn’t farm?”

  “My father wanted to pursue studies at university, so he left the country behind for the city. He met my mother, Francine Rowe, in Richmond. They married, and I was born a year later.”

  “Are you their only child?” Sophie asked.

  “I have three younger brothers. All of them have gone back to farming. I’m sure my great-grandfather is beaming down from heaven at their accomplishments in reviving the crop.”

  “What made you choose to go into the ministry?” Mr. Charlton spooned some more beans on his plate. “You look like a strong enough fellow to drive a plow.”

  “God called me to the ministry about seven years ago, when I was a soldier in the Confederacy. Seeing the violence, the politics of land possession and slavery…I couldn’t be a man who stood for those causes.” He bit into a chicken leg. “I couldn’t go to the family farm because it bore the history of those things.”

  “Well, I can assure you, my family treated the workers on our plantation with the utmost fairness and decency.” Sophie sipped from her glass. “Some of the workers were freed and simply worked our land because of the good way we treated them.”

  Her brothers and sister cast questioning glances at their sibling. “We didn’t have any land,” the oldest boy stated.

  Mr. Charlton took a slow sip of tea, his eyes peering sternly at his daughter over the glass rim.

  Rowe wiped his mouth on the edge of his napkin. “I meant no offense to you or your family. That once was a way of life for many people. Fortunately, it is no more.”

  Sophie straightened a little in her seat. The younger siblings were silent again as they sensed the tension from the adults. Their father cleared his throat.

  Sophie composed herself. “Reverend, are you married?”

  “I was. My wife died three years ago in childbirth.”

  “I’m so sorry!”

  “You didn’t know.” He swallowed the last of his tea. The youngest daughter rose to refill his glass, but he declined. “Thank you, Rosemarie, but I believe I’m beginning to grow full. As I was saying, my wife and child died three years ago, when I was completing my studies in seminary. I worked as an assistant minister in a church until a friend informed me of positions out west for ministers, teachers, missionaries, and so forth.”

  “And God led you here.”

  “Yes, to Assurance.”

  Rowe chose not to mention how he tried to apply for positions in Charlottesville, Boston, and Smithfield before accepting the offer in Kansas. Positions in the big cities had already been filled by applicants with more experience, so his rejection letters stated. Once he accepted that hard fact and trusted God’s leading, it made the journey out west easier to bear.

  He just didn’t count on the loneliness following him.

  “We’re grateful you’re here, Reverend.” Mr. Charlton took him from his musing. “Our town hasn’t had a preacher in some months.”

  “As you can tell with certain folks,” Sophie put in. “The moral indecency in this town has grown considerably. I’m sure you noticed when you spoke to that Miss Pierce after church on Sunday.”

  “Marissa?” Rowe blurted out her first name as though they were on familiar terms and had to promptly correct himself. “I ran into Miss Pierce on my first day here.”

  “Is that so?” Sophie looked up from the last bite of beans on her plate and set her fork down with an abrupt clink upon the fine porcelain. “Children, would you please clear the table?”

  Rosemarie, David Jr., and Bernard stood. She waited until they gathered all the dishes and glasses and took them into the other room to wash. “Do go on, Reverend.”

  Rowe disliked her sudden change in tone, as though she demanded an explanation for his speaking to another citizen of the town. “When I arrived at the inn, Miss Pierce walked past my wagon. I tipped my hat to her, but she was in a hurry.”

  Sophie raised an arched brow. “She was likely feeling shameful.”

  “Of what?”

  Father and daughter exchanged glances across the table. Mr. Charlton played with the edge of the lace tablecloth between his thick, plow-calloused hands.

  “Well, Reverend, we’re not in the habit of speaking ill of others, but Marissa Pierce is not what you would call a, ahem, respectable woman.” Sophie explained. “She makes her living in the most disreputable way as one of the local song and dance girls of Jason’s saloon.”

  Sophie’s self-righteous tone provoked Rowe to speak on Mariss
a’s behalf. “You saw that she didn’t appear disreputable on Sunday. Her dress was modest.”

  “Well, I detected a hint of rouge on her cheeks.”

  Rowe recalled seeing the blush that crept on Marissa’s cheeks as he accused the saloon employees of robbery. “That was natural. She wore no artifice, as far as I could tell, and she carried herself like a well-mannered woman.”

  “She was vastly deceivin’ you, Reverend. And, if I may speak boldly, she probably does more than just a song and dance each night.”

  “Dear Sophie! We may know where Miss Pierce works, but we don’t know the details of her occupation, do we?” Mr. Charlton likely asked the question in order to give his daughter a chance to redeem herself of the outburst, but she gave an airy shrug instead.

  “One doesn’t need to stretch the imagination too far, Daddy. You told me about the saloon girls when we first settled here and warned me to avoid their…less than pristine presence. But I will stand down, for the reverend’s sake.” Inclining her head to Rowe, she gave him a small, apologetic smile.

  For all of her practiced gentility, Rowe detected a sharpness that could undercut all but the most insensitive hearts. How did Mr. Charlton handle his daughter’s demeanor on a daily basis, he wondered. The poor man.

  He pushed his chair back to stand. “The conversation has been enlightening. It’s getting late, and I should at least think of what Sunday’s sermon should be before I retire for the evening.”

  Mr. Charlton also eagerly rose, no doubt grateful that talk of the local saloon and its employees was over for the time being. “I’ll get your coat, sir.”

  Meanwhile Sophie walked Rowe to the door, hands clasped neatly in front of her. “It has surely been a delightful evening with your presence gracing us, Reverend. We hope you can come again.” The golden eyelashes batted.

  Rowe reached for his felt derby hat on the wall rack and placed it on his head. “The dinner was delicious. Few women have your talent with the stove, Miss Charlton.”

  “I’d be pleased if you call me Sophie. Daddy and I will consider you one of our closest friends.”

  Or potential ally, he thought. During seminary he saw how men and women placed themselves in a minister’s esteem to use that relationship as a way to achieve authority over others. Sophie Charlton had the potential to become such a person because she wanted not only his esteem but his intimate affection as well.

  She lightly brushed her skirt to clear it of imaginary dust. Though lovely in appearance, her coy manner didn’t sway him in the slightest.

  Mr. Charlton returned with his overcoat. Rowe pushed his arms into the sleeves. “Thank you both for welcoming me into your home.”

  “We enjoyed having you, Reverend,” Sophie’s father said as he put an arm around his daughter’s shoulder. “See you on Sunday morning.”

  “Yes, till then.”

  Outside Rowe untied his horse from the hitching post by the gate and climbed into the saddle. The evening air, still warm from the hot July day, whipped his face and lifted his horse’s mane. Giving a final wave to the Charltons, he rode the winding path from their house to the dusty main road.

  On the way home his mind reeled with thoughts of Marissa. Her voice, her resolute dignity. Many women were pretty, but she possessed a certain quality of spirit. She had determination, a hidden strength to endure hardship, and that registered with him. The image of Marissa in a saloon girl’s short dress and tight bodice, kicking up her petticoats to a tinkling piano, just didn’t match the woman with the wide-brimmed hat strolling to the lake. They were two completely different personas.

  Despite what he told Sophie and her father, he realized he didn’t have a mind to work on the sermon tonight. What the Charltons had hinted of Marissa and the goings-on at Jason’s Saloon was too distracting to push aside. Making the decision to go into town, he rode past mostly closed shops and stalls.

  The blacksmith was still in operation, as was McIntyre’s Restaurant. People out this late in the evening were either proprietors whose trade demanded long hours or those returning home from visiting a neighbor. A few others lolled about for different reasons, as indicated by the lights emanating from the saloon.

  Rowe chided himself for stopping his horse in the middle of the road to look into the establishment. What was he thinking? Did he hope to catch sight of gamblers or immoral propositioning? That would be something for the town newspaper to print about its new preacher. Out to steal a glimpse at the whiskey swillers and dancing girls.

  Rowe thought of the unpleasant way his last conversation with Marissa ended.

  Leading the horse onward to his cabin at the lake, Rowe criticized himself again. He had a congregation to concern himself with. It was his responsibility to see to their needs. While Marissa might need special pastoral care, he should not let her take precedence.

  He arrived at his cabin, unsaddled his horse, and let it drink from its trough. Repairs were always good at bringing the mind to focus. Rowe wasn’t much of a carpenter, but he noticed that one end of the perimeter fence was falling apart. That was something he could fix in the morning.

  The hinges on the old wooden door creaked as he entered the house for the night, trying, in vain, to keep his mind off Marissa.

  Chapter 6

  THURSDAY MORNING MARISSA entered the store of Zachary Arthur, the town’s shoemaker. Friends of her mother’s family for years, Zachary and his wife, Rebecca, always welcomed her in spite of her place of employment. Marissa figured a visit would help keep her mind sane until she came up with a way to leave Jason’s Saloon for good.

  The smell of leather permeated the store from the rows of newly cobbled shoes on the two large shelves. A cold potbelly stove rested in the back. Contentment gradually came over Marissa as she settled into her surroundings. Zachary, a cheerful old man with white hair and smiling brown eyes, greeted her from the store counter. “Hello, Marissa.”

  “How do you do, Mr. Arthur?”

  “Very well. Haven’t seen you in a while.”

  She came closer to the counter. “The saloon’s been very busy lately.”

  Zachary ventured onto the sales floor. His form started to bend with age, but his friendly demeanor was just as fresh and exuberant as she had always known it to be. “Rebecca asks of you all the time.”

  He referred to his wife, a woman of equally sweet and welcoming disposition. Of all the townspeople, the Arthurs had known Marissa the longest. Her best memories were in this shop, before life took her parents and grandparents, making its strange, sad turn for the worse.

  “Tell her I’m doing alright.”

  “Is that true, Marissa?” His eyes showed wisdom and concern. “We’re not blind to your circumstances, you know.”

  Marissa looked down at her feet, unable to conceal the truth. “You were the first to know of my arrival back in town two years ago. Despite my current…arrangements, you never shunned me, so I’ll tell you. My contract ends with Jason in eight days. I’ll be free to pursue my own calling.”

  “That is splendid good news, Mari!” He called her by her childhood nickname. “What are your plans?”

  “I was to own a small share of a store in Claywalk.” She remained silent on the details of her bad investment because it still stirred her blood with aggravation. “Either I would become a merchant myself or receive a portion of the profits.”

  “Are you moving to Claywalk, then?”

  “There are no prospects for the time being. I’m not certain it’s wise for me to spend money on boardinghouses without being employed.”

  Zachary regarded her with touching compassion. “Stay with Rebecca and me. We have extra room. My wife would love to have another woman in the house to talk to.”

  Marissa experienced glowing warmth in her heart at having been so welcomed. “Thank you for the offer, Mr. Arthur, but I can’t do that. It would be wrong to live under your roof without earning my keep.”

  “Then pay us a couple of dollars each m
onth, if it would make you feel better. Or work in the store and earn a living that way. I can put you in charge of the stock and order placements.”

  She glanced over her shoulder to see if another customer had entered. No one was there, but she lowered her voice. “You know I’m a saloon girl.”

  Zachary lifted one stooped shoulder. “Soon to be former, but why should that matter?”

  “No one in this town will buy shoes from you if I work here.”

  “Child, do you honestly believe the entire town would do such a thing? There are plenty of God-fearing people here who are forgiving and will accept you.”

  “You forget about Jason Garth. He has a mind to keep me in that saloon. I don’t want him hounding after you because you offered to help me.”

  Zachary dismissed the notion with a toss of his hand. “Rebecca and I are not afraid of that man. Any power or influence that he has can’t stand against the protection we have over us.”

  Marissa took note of his confidence, the same she had witnessed in her missionary grandparents. It was too extraordinary to contemplate how they lived each day without fear of what people or events might bring.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Zachary sighed. “I guess that’s your way of telling me the discussion is over. You got that strong will and stubbornness, alright. You know where to find Rebecca and me should you change your mind.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Arthur. I do mean that.” Turning to leave, she stopped short of a half step.

  Rowe Winford stood at the door.

  Rowe had no idea how he had set foot in the shoe shop when his original destination was the general store to purchase a new hammer. He broke the handle when mending the fence that morning and smashed his thumb in the process. Grumbling to himself for being out of practice, he made the short journey to town on foot. Then he saw Marissa through the large display window of the store.

  “Good morning to you, Reverend.”