Faith (17 page)

I truly wish that Nicholas would stand up to his mother more. He
has the patience ofJob with that woman. Although I pray every night
for God to give me more patience, I still find it very hard to still my
fiery tongue.

Faith penned a similar letter to June. Writing to her sisters
eased the homesickness she'd been battling for days. She
addressed and sealed each envelope with care. It felt so good
to share her feelings with someone who would understand.

She suddenly sat up straighter, catching a whiff of a foul
odor.

The pan! Faith sprang from her chair and dashed to the
stove. The pan was bone-dry. Jars exploded, sending a
plume of steam and pig's feet spiraling toward the ceiling.
Feet belched from the pan like hot ash.

Throwing her arms over her head, Faith ducked as thousands of honey particles rained down on her. When the
explosion died off, the room turned deadly silent.

Horrified, she viewed the carnage. Shattered glass from
broken jars littered counters and floors. Pieces of pig's feet
hung from the ceiling. Nothing could be salvaged. Not
even the pan.

Smoke stung Faith's eyes; the odor was sickening.

Fanning with a dish towel, she glanced outside and
groaned when she saw Liza coming toward the house,
empty laundry basket tucked beneath her arm.

Sinking into a chair at the kitchen table, Faith braced herself for the approaching storm.

It was likely to be a dandy.

DuSTING the oak sideboard, Liza's hands
suddenly stilled. Picking up a small picture frame, she smiled.
"Good morning, Abe. I miss you, darling." Her fingertips
lovingly traced the features of her beloved's face smiling back
at her. Abe. Husband, lover, best friend. When would the
awful pain ease? Friends said, "Time, Liza. Time will heal
your loss." But time had failed to change anything. Would
she ever go to bed at night without automatically reaching for
the comfort of Abe's arms? He had been her protector, her
mentor, the reason she got up every morning. And he was
gone.

Evenings she used to look up from her handwork and see
him sitting beside her, reading a journal, spectacles riding on
the bridge of his nose. Tonight when she looks up, she will
see his empty chair.

She kept the furniture covered now, unable to cope with
memories. Abe had made every single piece; worked for
years to build whatever she wanted. She couldn't bear to
look at the furnishings now; it just inflicted fresh wounds.

She had prayed-oh how she had prayed-that when it
was time, God would take Abe and her together in order to
spare the other agony. It was a selfish wish; she knew that.
God had called Abe first. Now only she remained to look
after their son.

Nicholas was a dutiful boy, but a son couldn't take his
father's place. Not in matters of the heart.

Alarmed, Liza's hand came to her throat as the familiar thump
vibrated in her chest. She needed to see Doc about her worsening condition, yet she was frightened, afraid Doc would tell
her there was something horribly wrong: She was going to die.

At times she felt she'd welcome death. Since Abe had
died, Liza thought of the grave more as a friend than an
enemy. Dying didn't concern her, for she knew in whom
she believed. Her concern lay with Nicholas. If she were
gone, who would see to his needs? Who would love him,
care for him? She'd prayed daily for the Lord to send a good
woman into Nicholas's life-a woman, not a scatterbrained
child from Michigan! Her heart skipped erratically. Oh,
Abe, I'm in desperate need of assurance that our child will have
someone to rely on when I'm gone-and God has sent a twit.

Liza wanted a home for Nicholas, a wife, children. She
wanted to die with the certainty that he was happy, surrounded by those he loved. But Nicholas no longer
believed in love. She saw the way he looked at Rachel, as though still convinced that she was the one woman who
would have made him happy. Liza didn't for a minute agree
with him. Rachel's passive nature would never mix with
Nicholas's proud spirit Actually, Faith was more suited to
Nicholas's nature....

Odd how that just came to her. Of course, those pig's
feet.... A grin hovered at the corners of her mouth. Land
sakes ... all those pieces of feet clinging to the ceiling. Her
smile died.

Liza knew her "condition" made her impossible to live
with lately, but she still had a clear mind-most of the time.
More often than not, her conversations with her son ended
in arguments. Lately, Nicholas had been predisposed to
silence; she supposed it was an effort to keep the peace.

Her fingers tenderly retraced the photograph of her smiling husband, arm in arm with his son in the field. The photograph was old and tattered, like her heart. Abe was very
handsome.... Nicholas looked so much like his father. She
bit back tears, aching to hear her husband's voice, the sound
of his silly laugh....

Tears rolled down her cheeks, and her heart thumped.
Emptiness settled in the pit of her stomach as she blindly set
the picture down and dusted around it. All the tears in the
world wouldn't bring Abe back. He was gone. When was
she ever going to face it?

She missed Nicholas. Faith was startled by the admission,
but it was true. She missed Nicholas. This strange man she'd agreed to take as a husband had been gone for over a week,
and the days were endless without him.

Though Nicholas had barely acknowledged her presence,
when he was around, the house seemed warmer, more
bearable.

On the rare occasions when she experienced his smile or
enjoyed his laugh, she was filled with the outrageous need
for him to like her. She enjoyed seeing him read his Bible at
night by the fire, looking so strong and confident. And she
was sure his submissive way toward Liza was out of kindness, not weakness. Given the slightest encouragement, she
might easily fall in love with this tall, somber man.

Nicholas practiced his faith more quietly than most men,
yet it ran true and strong in his veins. True, there were
times it seemed mother and son were set upon by the devil
himself, determined to suck every shred of Christian joy out
of their lives.

And yet ... he could be kind. She smiled when she
recalled how Nicholas had pulled her aside just before leaving. Concern colored his eyes, and he'd instructed her in a
strong, confident voice, "You take care of yourself-don't
be delivering any calves or shooting any snakes while I'm
gone. Be in before dark, and if Mama gets on your nerves,
go visit Mary Ellen. You hear?"

She'd nodded, feeling all warm inside. It had sounded
almost as if he cared-honestly cared-about her welfare.
He was such a puzzlement: stern one minute, irresistible the
next.

Faith had known other Christians like the Shepherds. Papa had called them suffering Christians. Those who
accepted Christ but took no joy in living. All was law, and
Christianity a sentence to be practiced conscientiously until
God called them home. Faith felt that Christians should be
the happiest folks around. What loss God must feel when
his children failed to live a rich, full life.

Rinsing a skillet, Faith laid it aside. Perhaps Nicholas liked
her more than she thought. There'd been times lately when
he had acted like a smitten suitor. When other men had
shown her attention-particularly Dan-Nicholas's mouth
tightened, and he made her stop whatever she was doing
and join him. The corners of her mouth turned up. She
shouldn't take delight in his insecurity, and she certainly
didn't encourage it; but she had to admit she rather enjoyed
Nicholas's attention.

Dan was always grateful for her help. Considering the
failed wedding attempts, Faith wondered if God had maybe
sent her to Dan ... to be a mother to his children rather
than an unappreciated guest in the Shepherd house.

Folding the dishcloth, she draped it over a drying rack,
then bent to pick up a stray piece of pig's feet she'd missed
the day before. She never would have dreamed the chaos
those exploding jars of pig's feet could cause. She'd thought
Liza would faint when she saw the kitchen. But after her
first bewildered stare, she had begun to grin, then chuckle,
and before they knew it, the two women were laughing
until the tears trickled down their cheeks. Faith shook her
head. There was no figuring that woman out. After their
laughter died down, Liza had said, "Of course, you'll have to clean it all up. Nicholas will be disappointed; he loves
pig's feet." A grin hovered around the corners of her
mouth. "To tell the truth, I've always detested them. But
the neighbors know how much Nicholas likes them, and
they supply him with all he can eat." Then, before Faith
could say a word, she had turned around and left the
kitchen.

Straightening, Faith focused on the small tin of snuff sitting
on the counter. Such a tasteless habit. Why did Liza insist on
chewing? Reaching for the tin, she quickly disposed of it. Perhaps Liza would rid herself of the habit if temptation weren't
so readily at hand. If Faith could find that brown vial Liza kept
in her apron pocket, she'd throw that away too!

She called to Mother Shepherd in the parlor. "Would it
be all right if I took the buggy into town this morning?"
Closing her eyes, she held her breath, waiting for the
answer. It would be her first outing alone since she'd
arrived in Deliverance, but if she didn't escape Liza's critical
eye for a few hours, she was going to scream. She would
hitch the buggy and go into town. She needed a few personal items from the mercantile, and while she was at it, she
wanted to visit the land office to inquire about the Smith
house. Nicholas and Liza hadn't approved her starting the
school for the blind, but they hadn't forbidden her to start
one either.

Liza poked her head around the kitchen doorway. "Why
do you want to go into town?"

"Well . . ." Faith worried her teeth against her lower lip.
She could fib. She could pretend she desperately needed something personal from the mercantile, and Liza wouldn't
know the difference unless she went out of her way to
check with Oren Stokes.

Papa's voice echoing Leviticus rang in her mind: "Ye shall
not steal, neither deal falsely, neither lie one to another."

Drats. "Well ... I thought it might be neighborly to stop
by Mary Ellen's and see if she needed help with the new
babies."

Not exactly her intended purpose for going into town,
but neither was it an outright lie. She could easily stop by
the Finney place.

Liza took a hanky from her bodice and fanned herself.
"Nonsense. Mary Ellen can see after her own children.
Have you seen my box of snuff?"

"No, ma'am." Faith's cheeks burned with the falsehood.
Forgive me, Lord; it's for her own good. She stepped aside as
Liza entered the kitchen, the older woman's eyes searching
for the familiar tin.

Faith clasped her hands behind her back and trailed
behind her. "I was thinking that Mary Ellen and her family
might enjoy a fresh-baked cherry pie."

Liza's muffled voice floated down to her as she rummaged
through a drawer. "Flour and sugar don't grow on trees,
Miss Kallahan."

"But cherries do, Mother Shepherd." Liza had seen
enough canned cherries in the pantry to feed a horse. "May
I go?"

"Oh, very well." Liza closed the drawer. "You may take the buggy, but don't be wearing out your welcome, you
hear?"

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you! I won't be long!"

Faith ran to change into a dress with Liza's strident voice
close on her heels. "Can't imagine what happened to my
snuff lately. I've bought three cans this week!"

It was past noon by the time Faith hitched up the buggy,
then tucked the fresh-baked pie into a secure corner. The
crusty brown pastry was still hot to the touch. Climbing
aboard, she picked up the reins, aware that Liza was standing in the doorway, watching her departure.

"You be back here before dark!"