Courting Trouble (35 page)

Leaning forward, he kissed her. But she did not open her lips or lean into his chest. She knew now where that led and she’d committed to wait. And wait she would.

—————

The next day, Essie sat at the kitchen table, polishing silver fruit spoons, trying to sort out her feelings.

Papa stepped through the back door, a blast of cold air wafting through the kitchen and causing the fire to gutter. He hooked his coat on a peg, along with his hat, then poured himself a cup of coffee from the stove.

‘‘Are you trying to shine those or obliterate their engravings?’’ he asked.

Essie looked up.

‘‘You’ve been working on that same spoon ever since I came in.’’

‘‘Have I? I wasn’t paying attention.’’

Each spoon held on its bowl depictions of the fruit to be consumed. This one was for strawberries.

Papa pulled out a chair and settled himself into its rickety form.

The sound of her rubbing was drowned out by the brisk winter wind whistling past their window and back door.

‘‘Is something wrong?’’ he asked.

She shot him a quick glance. ‘‘Why do you ask?’’

‘‘Because you seem distracted. Quiet. You shut yourself in your room last night—’’ ‘‘I was reading
Robinson Crusoe
.’’

‘‘And Ewing hasn’t come by all day.’’

‘‘He had some things he needed to do.’’ She dipped the spoon she was working on in a bowl of water, swishing it around before drying it off. ‘‘What do you think of Ewing, Papa? I mean what do you
really
think?’’

‘‘I think he is an excellent young man with a great deal of potential. Always has been.’’ He paused. ‘‘What do you think of him?’’

‘‘The same, I guess.’’

He took a sip from his cup. ‘‘You guess? You don’t know?’’

‘‘He’s asked me to marry him.’’

Papa nodded. ‘‘Well. I had wondered. He’d requested my permission nearly a week ago.’’

Essie picked up the next spoon. This one had peaches on it.

‘‘What did you say?’’ he asked.

‘‘That I had to think about it.’’

‘‘I imagine that wasn’t the answer he was hoping for.’’

‘‘No. I’m afraid it wasn’t.’’

‘‘Do you have some objection to him?’’

Essie sighed. ‘‘That’s just it, Papa. There is nothing wrong with him. He is perfect. He is a man of God. He has forgiven me for giving myself to Adam. He is nice-looking. He has a good heart.

What, then, am I waiting for?’’

‘‘Perhaps someone you are in love with? Someone who isn’t trying to mold you into being something you are not?’’ His words were quiet, gentle, yet very potent.

‘‘But I’ve been waiting for this opportunity my whole life. Ever since I was a little girl, all I ever wanted was to grow up and be someone’s wife, the mother of someone’s children. Now here is a perfectly fine man being handed to me on a silver platter, and I am hesitating.’’

Papa set down his cup. ‘‘Sounds like you are trying to convince yourself that if you could just marry Ewing—any man, really—you would be fulfilled. But you won’t, Essie.’’

‘‘But if Ewing had asked me this past summer, I’d have said yes without a moment’s hesitation. It’s what I want and what I’ve been praying for.’’

‘‘You’ve been praying for something you
thought
would make you happy. But God may have something else in store for you. Remember, an ‘eye has not seen, nor ear heard . . . the things which God has prepared for those who love Him.’ ’’

Essie nodded and picked up another spoon. ‘‘But I could easily make my life with him. I could. We have been friends for years. I’m sure that over time my feelings for him would grow.’’

‘‘You’re still justifying. Is it because you’re trying to convince me— and yourself—that a man and marriage will make you complete and happy?’’ He placed his large hand over her delicate one, halting her ministrations. ‘‘They won’t, you know. Nothing can truly fill you other than Christ.’’

‘‘Can’t I have both? A man and Christ, I mean?’’

‘‘Not if you prefer marriage above all else. God must come first.

He must be even more important to you than marriage.’’

‘‘But God’s not flesh and blood.’’ She felt her eyes pool. ‘‘And I’m lonely.’’

Papa removed the cloth and spoon from her fingers, then clasped her hands. ‘‘Essie, my girl, there is no aloneness like being married and alone.’’

‘‘How could that be?’’

‘‘It is that way for many, many couples, I’m afraid. There is no rapport between the partners. Or the man makes decisions the woman can’t walk in. Or the woman henpecks the man to death. Or the man spends his time east of Beaton Street while the woman is left at home and alone with the children.’’

‘‘None of that would happen to Ewing and me. And many folks say that friendship is the very best basis for marriage.’’

‘‘Friendship is important, very important, I’ll grant you that. But am I wrong in my estimation when I say that Ewing is trying to press you into some mold that you don’t fit into very well?’’

‘‘What do you mean?’’

‘‘I mean, why have you quit bicycling? Quit practicing on your wheeled feet? Quit hunting and fishing? And why have you quit wearing those hats that suit you like no others?’’

‘‘Ewing is afraid the church will rescind their offer if I don’t maintain the strictest of standards in ladylike behavior.’’

‘‘So you are giving up the very things that make you
you
?’’

‘‘Only temporarily.’’

‘‘Don’t fool yourself, Essie. If that’s what those elders require now, they will most assuredly hold you to those same restrictions and more after Ewing is their preacher.’’

‘‘But Mother says a bicycle shouldn’t be more important than getting married and having children. Besides, this is what I’ve been praying for, crying out for, hoping for.’’

Sorrow etched the lines in Papa’s face. ‘‘You do not need a man to be a whole person.’’

‘‘Then why would God send me Ewing if not for the purpose of marrying him?’’

‘‘Perhaps because the Lord wants to see if you will trust Him. If you will choose Him over being married.’’

‘‘But marriage was His idea. He sanctified it.’’

‘‘Marriage is a good thing, but it may not be the highest and best for you. Are you willing to give it up for Him, if that is what He wishes?’’

Moisture once again rushed to her eyes. ‘‘But I don’t want Him to wish that for me. Why would He?’’

‘‘I don’t know. All I’m saying is, if you truly trust God, and if He is the most important thing in your entire life, then you will accept and believe that He knows what is best for you. And you will accept it joyfully. Willingly.’’

She pulled her hands away, propping an elbow on the table and resting her head against her palm. ‘‘Who will hug me in my old age?

Who will eat at my table when you and Mother are gone?’’

‘‘Christ will meet your needs, Essie. If you let Him.’’

‘‘But I can’t touch Him with my hands or see Him with my eyes or hear Him with my ears.’’

Papa sighed. ‘‘So you would pretend to be something you aren’t and marry a man you’re not in love with?’’

‘‘I don’t know,’’ she whispered. ‘‘Maybe. Except . . . except I want something more.’’

‘‘Of course you do. So, for now, why not embrace Christ fully and with abandon? Then see how you feel about marriage to Ewing?’’

‘‘How? How do I
embrace
Christ?’’

‘‘You obey Him. Dwell on His Word. Do every single thing for His glory. And I’m not talking about serving the church or caring for orphans. I’m talking about everyday things. When you ride your bike, do it for His enjoyment. Talk to Him, praise Him, delight in His creation. When you wear a hat, do it for His pleasure. When you polish the silver, sing to Him. Make Him the love of your life.’’

Those words were so easy for him to say. He had a wife. And a child. How could he possibly understand what he was suggesting?

He drained the last of his coffee. ‘‘Whatever you decide, honey, your mother and I will support you.’’

Standing, he squeezed her neck and left. Leaving her to decide if Christ as her lifelong groom would truly be enough.

chapter TWENTY-NINE

EWING TRIED NOT TO study Preacher Bogart’s office too closely. He didn’t want the old man to think he was coveting— though, in all likelihood, he was.

He took quick note of the open bookshelves along the north wall, the fireplace adjacent to the man’s substantial desk, and the small prayer table holding an open Bible. Not much had changed—other than his age—since the last time he’d visited this office. The last time he’d stood here he was a youngster who, during church, had shaped his fingers into a gun, pointed them at an elder collecting the offering, and said, ‘‘Stick ’em up.’’

Ewing shook the memory free and cleared his throat.

‘‘Come in, son,’’ the preacher said, looking up and placing his pen in a holder. Nose and ears dominated a kind face framed by a head of pure white hair so thick he was the envy of many men half his age.

Large blue eyes that missed nothing conveyed pleasure as he offered Ewing a seat.

Other memories of old flashed through Ewing’s mind. Preacher Bogart shooting BBs at him the night he stole a watermelon from the man’s garden. Arm wrestling him after rendering a hog to see who would keep the animal’s bladder for a game of catch. Squaring off with him at age fifteen when—tired of being asked to do more than his share of chores around the church—he hollered, ‘‘My name is
not
‘Get Wood!’ ’’ Removing his hat, Ewing settled into the wooden chair the preacher had indicated.

‘‘You’re looking well, Getwood.’’

Ewing smiled. ‘‘Thank you, sir. As are you.’’

‘‘I haven’t had a chance to tell you privately how pleased I am the elders chose you as my replacement.’’

‘‘Thank you, sir. I’m still trying to decide which I’m feeling more—anticipation or terror. You’ve left some mighty big shoes to fill.’’

‘‘No need to put on these old things when you have an excellent pair of your own.’’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘‘Many of your professors at the Nashville Bible College are colleagues of mine. They had very complimentary and remarkable things to say about you.’’

‘‘I learned a lot while I was there, sir. I’m anxious to do God’s work here at home.’’

They spoke of the church’s mission. They discussed the differences between Bible college now and when Bogart had attended.

They debated about closed communion and whether or not nonmembers of faith should be allowed to receive communion.

As the conversation wound down, Bogart moved aside some papers on his desk. ‘‘The elders and I have noticed you courting our Miss Essie rather doggedly these last few weeks.’’

‘‘Yes, sir. It is my hope she will agree to be my wife.’’

He nodded. ‘‘She’s a strong woman from a good family, and the two of you have been friends a long time.’’

‘‘My whole life, actually. Some of my earliest memories hearken back to her.’’

‘‘I assume you have discussed your intentions with her father?’’

‘‘Of course.’’

Bogart rested his arms on top of his desk. ‘‘As you well know, the Lord has revealed to us through His Word that His expectations for His leaders are higher and more stringent than for those in His congregation.’’

‘‘Yes, sir. First Timothy.’’

‘‘Then you’ll remember one of those qualifications is that their wives be above reproach and worthy of respect.’’

He nodded.

‘‘Son,’’ the preacher said, steepling his fingers, ‘‘it has come to the attention of myself and the elders that Miss Spreckelmeyer might not be as above reproach as one might think.’’

Ewing stiffened. ‘‘I don’t understand.’’

‘‘There is an unconfirmed rumor concerning an illicit affair she supposedly had with one of her father’s employees.’’

His first reaction was outrage, followed swiftly by a need to vehemently deny the accusation. His third was panic. He forced himself to remain calm.

‘‘Rumor?’’ he asked, putting as much disparagement on the word as he dared. ‘‘Well, I would venture to guess that, depending upon who you talk to, there are rumors about every person in this town.’’

‘‘You’re probably right. But not everyone in town is being considered for a position as our pastor.’’

‘‘What are you saying?’’

‘‘I’m saying that before we can move any further in our dealings, we must first verify the rumor.’’

‘‘How do you plan to do that?’’

‘‘We plan to ask Miss Spreckelmeyer to either deny or verify it.’’

He shot to his feet. ‘‘I won’t have it. I will not subject her to such a thing simply because some busybody is spreading falsehoods about her.’’

‘‘Calm down, Ewing. If they are falsehoods, all she need do is tell us and we will accept her word as absolute truth.’’

Ewing lowered himself back into his chair. ‘‘But don’t you see how humiliating that will be for her?’’

‘‘Yes, yes I do. And it is unfortunate. But there is no other way.

Too much is at stake.’’

‘‘And if I refuse to subject her to an interrogation?’’

‘‘It won’t be an interrogation, just a simple question put to her.’’

‘‘The question will be anything but simple.’’

He acknowledged Ewing’s statement with a nod. ‘‘Be that as it may, we must put it to her.’’

‘‘We? Who is we?’’

‘‘The elders and myself.’’

‘‘You cannot be serious. She would die of mortification. I will not permit it.’’

‘‘Then our offer to you will be revoked.’’

Had the preacher walloped Ewing in the stomach, he’d have been less shocked. Revoked? The elders planned to revoke their offer if Essie didn’t come in for questioning?

‘‘What if I speak on her behalf?’’ he asked.

‘‘I’m sorry. We must hear it from her.’’

He swallowed. ‘‘And what if it is true, this whatever it is? What if it did happen and she has confessed and repented and been forgiven?’’

Bogart’s eyes widened in alarm. ‘‘If it is true and you intend to marry her, then you’d best look for another profession. We cannot in good conscience allow you to pastor this church or any other if your wife is less than what she should be.’’

‘‘You’ve known her longer than I,’’ Ewing spat. ‘‘You know her family. She is a wonderful, good, wholesome woman.’’