Faith (3 page)

Removing his hat, he ran his hand through his hair. What
was keeping the stage?

"Brother Shepherd!" Nicholas turned to see Reverend
Hicks striding toward him. The tall, painfully thin man
always looked as if he hadn't eaten a square meal in days.
His ruddy complexion and twinkling blue eyes were the
only things that saved him from austerity. Vera, a large
woman of considerable girth, was trying to keep up with
her husband's long-legged strides.

"Mercy, Amos, slow down! You'd think we were going
to a fire!"

Reverend paused before Nicholas, his ruddy face breaking
into a congenial smile. Turning sixty had failed to dent the
pastor's youthfulness. "Stage hasn't gotten here yet?"

"Not yet." Nicholas glanced toward the bend in the road.
"Seems to be running late this morning."

The Reverend turned to address Liza. "Good morning,
Liza!" He reached for a snowy white handkerchief and
mopped his forehead. "Beast of a day, isn't it?"

Liza snorted, fanning herself harder. "No one respects
time anymore. You'd think all a body had to do was stand
in the heat and wait for a stage whose driver has no concept
of time."

Reverend stuffed the handkerchief back in his pocket.
"Well, you never know what sort of trouble the stage might
have run into."

Vera caught Liza's hand warmly and Nicholas stepped back. The woman was a town icon, midwife and friend to
all. When trouble reared its ugly head, Vera was the first to
declare battle.

"We missed you at Bible study this morning. Law, a body
could burn up in this heat! Why don't we step out of the
sun? I could use a cool drink from the rain barrel."

"No, thank you. Don't need to be filling up on water this
close to dinnertime." Liza's hands tightened around her
black parasol as she fixed her eyes on the road. "Go aheadspoil your dinner if you like. And I read my Bible at home,
thank you. Don't need to be eatin' any of Lahoma's sugary
cakes and drinkin' all that scalding black coffee to study the
Word."

"Well, of course not-" The Reverend cleared his throat.
"I've been meaning to stop by your place all week, Liza.
We haven't received your gift for the new steeple, and I
thought perhaps-"

Scornful eyes stopped him straightway. "We've given our
tenth, Reverend."

A rosy flush crept up the Reverend's throat, further reddening his healthy complexion. "Now, Liza, the Lord surely
does appreciate your obedience, but that old steeple is in bad
need of replacement-"

Liza looked away. "No need for you to thank me. The
Good Book says a tenth of our earnings." Liza turned back
to face the Reverend. "One tenth. That's what we give,
Reverend."

Reverend smiled. "And a blessed tenth it is, too. But the steeple, Liza. The steeple is an added expense, and we sorely
need donations-"

"There's nothing wrong with the old steeple, Amos! Why
do you insist on replacing it?"

"Because it's old, Liza." Pleasantries faded from the Reverend's voice as he lifted his hand to shade his eyes against
the sun. His gaze focused on the bell tower. "The tower is
rickety. It's no longer safe-one good windstorm and it'll
come down."

"Nonsense." Liza dabbed her neck with her handkerchief.
"The steeple will stand for another seventy years." Her
brows bunched in tight knots. "Money doesn't grow on
trees, Reverend. If the Lord wanted a new steeple, he'd
provide the means to get it."

The Reverend's eyes sent a mute plea in Nicholas's direction.

"Mama, Reverend Hicks is right; the tower is old. I see
no reason

"And that's precisely why I handle the money in this family," Liza snapped. She glowered toward the general store,
then back to Vera. "Perhaps a small sip of water won't taint
my appetite." She shot a withering look toward the road.
"A body could melt in this sun!"

An expectant buzz went up and the waiting crowd turned
to see a donkey round the bend in the road. The animal
advanced toward Deliverance at a leisurely gait. Nicholas
shaded his eyes, trying to identify the rider.

"Oh, for heaven's sake. It's just that old hermit Jeremiah,"
Liza muttered. "What's that pest doing here?"

Nicholas watched the approaching animal. Jeremiah
Montgomery had arrived in Deliverance some years back,
but the old man had kept to himself, living in a small shanty
just outside of town. He came for supplies once a month
and stayed the day, talking to old-timers who whittled the
time away on the side porch of the general store. He
appeared to be an educated man, but when asked about his
past, he would quietly change the subject. The citizens of
Deliverance were not a curious lot. They allowed the hermit his privacy and soon ceased to ask questions. Jeremiah
neither incited trouble nor settled it. He appeared to be a
peaceful man.

"Who's that he's got with him?" Vera asked, standing on
tiptoe.

The animal picked its way slowly down the road, its
hooves kicking up limpid puffs of dust as it gradually covered the distance. The crowd edged forward, trying for a
better look.

"Why-it looks like a woman," Reverend said.

As the burro drew closer, Nicholas spotted a small form
dressed in gingham and wearing a straw bonnet, riding
behind Jeremiah. A woman. His heart sank. A woman. A
woman stranger in Deliverance meant only one thing. His
smile receded. His bride-to-be was arriving by mule.

Nicholas stepped out, grasping the animal's bridle as it
approached. "Whoa, Jenny!" His eyes centered on the
childlike waif riding behind the hermit. She was youngmuch younger than he'd expected. A knot gripped his midsection. A tomboy to boot. Straddling that mule, wearing men's boots. The young girl met his anxious gaze, smiling.
Her perky hat was askew, the pins from the mass of raven
hair strung somewhere along the road.

"You must be Nicholas Shepherd."

"Yes, ma'am." His eyes took in the thick layers of dust
obliterating her gingham gown. The only thing that saved
the girl from being plain was her remarkable violet-colored
eyes.

Jeremiah slid off the back of the mule, offering a hand of
greeting to Nicholas. Nicholas winced at the stench of
wood smoke and donkey sweat. A riotous array of matted
salt-and-pepper hair crowned the old man's head. When he
smiled, deep dimples appeared in his cheeks. Doe-colored
eyes twinkled back at him as Nicholas accepted Jeremiah's
hand and shook it. "Seems I have something that belongs to
you.

Nicholas traced the hermit's gaze as he turned to smile at
his passenger.

Offering a timid smile, she adjusted her hat. "Sorry about
my appearance, Mr. Shepherd. The stage encountered a bit
of trouble."

"Lost a wheel, it did, and tipped over!" The hermit
knocked dust off his battered hat. "Driver suffered a broken
leg. Fortunate I came along when I did, or this poor little
mite would've scorched in the blistering sun."

Nicholas reached up to lift his bride from the saddle. For a
split moment, something stirred inside him, something long
dormant. His eyes met hers. His reaction surprised and
annoyed him. The hermit cleared his throat, prompting Nicholas to set the woman lightly on her feet. He finally
found his voice. "Where are the other passengers?"

"Sitting alongside the road. Stubborn as old Jenny, they
are. I informed them jenny could carry two more but they
told me to be on my way." Jeremiah laughed, knocking dirt
off his worn britches. "They'll be waiting a while. The stage
sheared an axle."

"I'll send Ben and Doc to help."

"They're going to need more than a blacksmith and a
doctor." Jeremiah took a deep breath, batting his chest.
Dust flew. "You better send a big wagon to haul them all to
town."

The Reverend caught up, followed by a breathless Liza
and Vera. "Welcome to Deliverance!" Reverend effusively
pumped the young woman's hand, grinning.

Faith smiled and returned the greeting. The band broke
into a spirited piece as the crowd gathered round, vying for
introductions. The donkey shied, loping to the side to distance itself from the commotion.

"Nicholas, introduce your bride!" someone shouted.

"Yeah, Nicholas! What's her name?" others chorused.

Reaching for the young lady's hand, Nicholas leaned
closer, his mind temporarily blank. "Sorry. Your last name
is...?"

She leaned closer and he caught a whiff of donkey. "Kallahan."

Clearing his throat, he called for order. "Quiet down,
please."

Tubas and drums fell silent as the crowd looked on expectantly.

"Ladies and gentlemen." Nicholas cleared his throat again.
He wasn't good at this sort of thing, and the sooner it was
over the better. "I'd like you to meet the woman who's
consented to be my wife, Miss Faith ... ?"

"Kallahan."

"Yes ... Miss Faith Kallahan."

Sporadic clapping broke out. A couple of single, heartbroken young women turned into their mothers' arms for
comfort.

Faith nodded above the boisterous clapping. "Thank
you-thank you all very much. It is a pleasure to be here!"

"Anything you ever need, you just let me know," Oren
Stokes's wife called.

"Same for me, dearie," the mayor's wife seconded as
other friendly voices chimed in.

"Quilting bee every Saturday!"

"Bible study at Lahoma Wilson's Thursday mornings!"

Liza stepped forward, openly assessing her new daughterin-law-to-be. "Well, at least you're not skin and bone." She
cupped her hands at Faith's hips and measured for width.
"Should be able to deliver a healthy child."

"Yes, ma'am," Faith said, then grinned. "My hips are nice
and wide, I'm in excellent health, and I can work like a man."

Women in the crowd tittered as Nicholas frowned. What
had God sent? A wife or a hired hand?

"Liza!" Vera stepped up, putting her arm around Faith's
shoulder. "You'll scare the poor thing to death with such talk. Let the young couple get to know each other before
you start talking children."

Children had fit into the equation, of course, but in an
abstract way. Now he was looking at the woman who
would be the mother of his children.

"Pshaw." Liza batted Vera's hands aside. "Miss Kallahan
knows what's expected from a wife."

When Nicholas saw Faith's cheeks turn scarlet, he said,
"Mama, Miss Kallahan is tired from her long trip."

"Yes, I would imagine." Liza frowned at Jeremiah, who
was hanging around watching the activity. She shooed him
away. "Go along, now. Don't need the likes of you smelling up the place."

Jeremiah tipped his hat, then raised his eyes a fraction to
wink at her. Liza whirled and marched toward the Shepherd buggy, nose in the air. "Hurry along, Nicholas. It's an
hour past our dinnertime."

The crowd dispersed, and Faith reached out to touch
Jeremiah's sleeve. "Thank you for the ride. I would have
sweltered if not for your kindness."

The old man smiled. "My honor, Miss Kallahan." Reaching for her hand, he placed a genteel kiss upon the back of
it. "Thank you for accepting kindness from a rather shaggy
Samaritan."

Nicholas put his hand on the small of her back and ushered her toward the waiting buggy.

As he hurried Faith toward the buggy, his mind turned
from the personal to business. Twelve-thirty. It would be
past dark before chores were done.

Nicholas lifted Faith into the wagon, and she murmured
thanks. Ordinarily, she would climb aboard unassisted. She
wasn't helpless, and she didn't want Nicholas fawning over
her. She hoped he wasn't a fawner. But she was relieved to
see her husband-to-be was a pleasant-looking man. Not
wildly handsome, but he had a strong chin and a muscular
build. He looked quite healthy. As he worked to stow her
luggage in the wagon bed, she settled on the wooden
bench, her gaze focusing on the way his hair lay in gentle
golden waves against his collar.

His letter had said he was of English and Swedish origin,
and his features evidenced that. Bold blue eyes, once-fair
skin deeply tanned by the sun. Only the faint hint of gray at
his temples indicated he was older than she was; otherwise,
he had youngish features. He was a man of means; she
could see that by the cut of his clothes. Denims crisply
ironed, shirt cut from the finest material. His hands were
large, his nails clean and clipped short. He was exceptionally
neat about himself. When he lifted her from the back of
Jeremiah's mule, she detected the faint hint of soap and
bay-rum aftershave.

She whirled when she heard a noisy thump! Nicholas was
frozen in place, staring at the ground as if a coiled rattler
were about to strike.

Scooting to the edge of the bench, Faith peered over the
wagon's side, softly gasping when she saw the contents of
her valise spilled onto the ground. White unmentionables stood out like new-fallen snow on the parched soil. Her
hand flew up to cover her mouth. "Oh, my . . . "

Liza whacked the side of the wagon with the tip of her
cane. "Pick them up, Nicholas, and let's be on our way."
She climbed aboard and wedged her small frame in the
middle of the seat, pushing Faith to the outside. "A body
could perish from hunger waiting on the likes of you."