Faith (6 page)

Sitting down on the first step, Nicholas glanced toward
the barn. Lantern light spilled from the windows. That
meant a ranch hand was late getting through with his
chores. Mama didn't like the help in the barn after dark.
Once she had been a fearless woman-a wildcat couldn't
intimidate her; lately she was scared of her own shadow. A
year ago she'd insisted the bunkhouse be relocated to the
back of the property in order to keep the help at a safe distance. The move had been costly and a considerable head ache, but he had complied with her wishes in hopes it
would assuage her uneasiness.

It hadn't.

"Glad to see you attended the quilting bee this afternoon."

"Didn't enjoy it."

They sat in silence for a few moments.

"What do you think of Miss Kallahan?" He kept his tone
casual, aware he was wading into quicksand.

"Appears to be a hooligan to me. Wallowing around in
that muck like a man."

Nicholas let the subject drop. Faith had been a help to him
yesterday. Most women would have avoided the problem.
"Nice night."

"It's hotter than a smokehouse." She fanned harder, wiping drops of perspiration off her forehead.

It wasn't that hot. An earlier shower had blown through
and cooled the air. "Windows are all open. Should cool
down real nice tonight."

Liza dabbed the hanky along her jawbone. "Suppose
you'll be inviting Miss Kallahan to services with us in the
morning.

"Mama. I am about to marry Miss Kallahan. I can hardly
leave her sitting in the front parlor Sunday mornings."

Liza sniffed, reaching for a can of snuff. "Shouldn't have
sent for her in the first place. I told you she'd be a peck of
trouble-trouble we don't need."

Nicholas eyed the snuff. "I wish you wouldn't do that."
His tone was sharper than intended. When Liza had taken
up chewing a few months back, he had strongly repri manded her. Papa would have rolled over in his grave,
Nicholas said, but she paid him no mind. Lately, she just
seemed bent on being ornery.

Liza shoved the box of snuff aside and promptly burst into
tears. Burying her face in her handkerchief, she sobbed,
great weeping howls that rendered him defenseless.

Nicholas muttered under his breath. "Mama! Have you
seen the doctor about these ... spells?" He tried to be
understanding, but the good Lord knew he was at the end
of his rope! He didn't know what to do with her when she
got like this!

She looked up from her hanky. "You watch your tongue,
young man. You're still not too big for me to take a switch to
your behind." Bolting from the chair, she stormed past him,
rapping him on the top of his head with her knuckles, then
jerked the screen door open and let it slam shut behind her.

Dropping his head back against the post, Nicholas stared
at the overhead canopy of stars. Thirty-four years old, and
Mama was still thumping him on top of the head. He'd
hold his tongue if it killed him-which it likely would if he
didn't get to the bottom of her strange moods, and soon.

The sound of rattling dishes drifted from the kitchen and
he briefly wondered if Miss Kallahan shared the same disposition for meanness. Was Mama's affliction peculiar to all
women? His head pulsed at the thought of two women
under one roof-his roof-each afflicted with the same
madness.

What did Miss Kallahan think of his letting Mama run
roughshod over him? He mentally groaned. Not much, he conceded. But Mama wasn't Mama-hadn't been for a long
time now. She was still grieving for Papa, and the Reverend
said only time would heal her wounds. Well, almost two
years had passed, and she was getting worse.

Quite frankly, it didn't matter what others thought. He
had only God and himself to answer to, and he would
honor his mother-however weak and indecisive he
appeared to Faith Kallahan, or anyone else for that matter.

Sunday morning Faith snuggled deeper beneath the sheet,
listening to the sound of rain dripping off the eaves. During
the night, thunder and lightning had shaken the old house
with the same fury that must have rocked old Noah's ark
when the flood came. Toward dawn, heavy downpours had
given way to gentle showers. The smell of damp earth
drifted through the open window, and she could hear
someone moving around downstairs. The fragrant aroma of
perking coffee teased her nose.

Stretching, she wiggled her toes, trying to wake up. It was
the Lord's Day. It was the first time she would attend services with her new husband. She frowned, remembering the
mother cow. Her soon-to-be husband, she amended.

Her gaze focused on the white dress hanging on a hook
beside the beveled mirror. Ugly blood splotches and grass
stain soiled the front of the Irish linen. It would take some
time to clean the dress, and even then the gown might be
ruined. Sighing, she rolled to her back, grateful Rose Nelson wasn't there to witness the sad sight.

What would she wear for her wedding? And when would
they attempt to marry again? She owned few garments-a
blue-and-white gingham, a paisley green print, a yellowsprigged cotton, a serviceable dark blue calico, a black wool,
two pairs of bib overalls, and a plaid shirt.

She rolled to her side. Maybe the yellow cotton, with a
little new lace tacked around the front....

The rooster crowed daylight as she rolled from the bed
and descended the stairway for breakfast thirty minutes later.
Liza was at the cookstove, turning thick slices of bacon in a
cast-iron skillet. She didn't look up when Faith walked into
the kitchen.

Summoning her cheeriest tone, Faith said, "Good
morning!"

Liza opened the oven door and took out a pan of biscuits.
"Make yourself useful. Get the cream and butter from the
springhouse."

"Yes, ma'am." Faith glanced out the open back door,
smiling when she saw two of the most beautiful horses she'd
ever seen standing in the corral. The small dark blotches on
a white coat, and striped hooves, took her breath. She knew
a ranch this size must have many horses that would be used
to pull steel plows, harrows, cultivators, hay rakes and reapers. But the two splendid Appaloosas drinking from the
water trough were undoubtedly Nicholas's private stock.

For a moment she forgot all about cream and butter in her
desire to take the animals a cube of sugar, touch their cold
noses, smell their warm, shiny coats. But one look at Liza's dark countenance made her beat a path hurriedly to the
springhouse.

"Shall I tell Nicholas breakfast is ready?" she asked as she
returned, setting the tub of butter and pitcher of cream on
the table.

"He doesn't need to be told when it's time to eat."

"Yes, ma'am." Faith dropped into a chair and waited for
Nicholas to come in from the barn. Would he let her pet
the horses if she slipped out the back and-

She glanced out the window and saw him striding toward
the house. She wouldn't be petting any horses this morning.

Breakfast was eaten in silence. Except for an occasional
"pass me this" or "pass me that" Nicholas and Liza didn't
address each other. Afterward Faith helped Liza wash dishes
as Nicholas dressed for church.

Around nine they set off for the church. A gray drizzle
peppered the top of the buggy as it rolled into the churchyard. Reverend Hicks, Bible neatly tucked beneath his arm,
stood at the door, greeting arrivals.

"Nicholas, Liza, Miss Kallahan." Reverend's pleasant smile
lit the dreary morning. "So sorry about the unfortunate turn
of events. Is the cow all right?"

"She's in good health," Nicholas said. Liza steered Faith
ahead of her as the two men shook hands. Two more wagons rattled into the yard. A crying infant shattered the
morning serenity.

"Oh my." Reverend Hicks clucked. "I don't know how
Dan Walters does it."

Faith turned to see a stocky, redheaded man climbing out of the wagon, trying to shield a squirmy infant beneath his
rain slicker. The man looked harried-and very young;
Faith guessed him to be no more than twenty-two. The
baby, screaming at the top of its lungs, looked to be only a
few months old. A redheaded girl toddler with friendly
green eyes was uselessly trying to plug up the noise by
wedging a sugar tit between the baby's gums. A dark-haired
boy, no more than five, valiantly wrestled to the ground a
thick bag crammed with bottles and diapers. It sounded to
Faith as if the circus had come to town.

Reverend Hicks cupped his hands to his mouth. "Need
any help, Dan?"

Dan glanced up, grinning. One of the baby's shoes was
missing. "Thanks, Reverend. I've got it under control!"

Heads turned as the rowdy ensemble entered the church
and marched down the aisle, the baby kicking and bucking
in protest as Dan settled his noisy brood in the pew.

The Shepherds filed into the church to take their seats as
the Reverend closed the double doors. Perched at the pump
organ wearing a bright pumpkin-colored dress and hat, Vera
awaited the Reverend's signal to begin the services.

Faith leaned closer to Nicholas and whispered, "Who is
that young man?"

"Dan Walters and his brood."

She frowned. "Where is Mrs. Walters?"

As the organ music swelled, Nicholas reached for the pew
hymnal, whispering, "She died giving birth to the baby."

Faith's eyes returned to the young father who was trying
to extricate a strand of hair from the baby's hand. The baby had the head of the poor woman sitting in front of them
drawn back like a bow. Poor man, she thought.

The opening stanza of "Onward Christian Soldiers"
shook the rafters, and the congregation got to their feet.
Faith stood beside Nicholas and in a clear, sweet alto sang
her Papa's favorite hymn. Closing her eyes, she imagined his
booming baritone energetically bolting out verse after verse
as if indeed "marching oonn to waaar." She sang with him,
matching his tempo, rejoicing in song. When she felt eyes
fixed on her, she opened her eyes to see Nicholas staring at
her. She smiled, pointing to the hymnal. "Papa's favorite

The singing died away, and the congregation sat down.
Reverend Hicks approached the podium, Bible tucked
beneath his arm, armed for battle. Baby Walters's muffled
frets were the only sound in the room.

Reverend placed the Bible on the podium, then fixed his
eyes upon the congregation.

"Brethren, this morning I prayed long and hard about
today's message. My first inclination was to bring a message on
the joys of giving, and then God reminded me not everyone
considers it a joy to give." Relaxing, the Reverend smiled.
"Many are unduly upset when the subject of money is
broached, but we all know and understand that God doesn't
want money; he wants obedience. Better that I preach a message of hope and encouragement to my flock, but the subject
of a new steeple weighs heavily upon my mind-"

"Oh, good grief," Faith heard Liza moan under her
breath.

"Here now! There'll be no moaning out loud, Liza Shepherd! This is just a friendly discussion before I preach the
Word. As unpleasant as the subject is to all of us, we need
a new steeple."

"Nothin' wrong with the one we got!" Clarence Watts
bellowed. Faith jumped at the outburst. During Papa's
services no one ever dreamed of talking back.

A farmer dressed in overalls stood up. "It's gonna fall
down round our heads, Clarence, that's what's wrong!"

"It is a mite worn," another man conceded before his
wife jerked him back to his seat.

"Hush up, Elmer. We cain't afford no new steeple!"

"People." The Reverend attempted to hush the sudden
uprising. "The old steeple has served the church well for
seventy years, but it's worn out. One good windstorm, and
it'll come down, and woe to the unsuspecting soul who is
unfortunate enough to be standing beneath it."

He fixed his eyes on Liza.

Faith's eyes pivoted to Liza. If Liza felt the Reverend was
speaking directly to her, she showed no sign of backing
down.

Whipping out a hanky, she fanned her reddened face as if
there weren't a stiff breeze coming through the open windows. She plucked at the top buttons of her blouse, her
hand favoring her heart.

Reverend's features softened. "Now I know you don't
like to talk about money-none of us do. But there comes
a time-"

Liza spoke up. "This is supposed to be sermon time, not business-meeting time, Reverend. If memory serves me,
we reserve business matters for Wednesday evenings."

Straightening, the Reverend took a moment to gain his
composure. Pursing his lips, he began thoughtfully, "Good
people of Deliverance, the Lord has blessed us all in a
mighty way. Before I go on with this morning's message, I
want you to promise you will go home, get down on your
knees, and consult the Lord about his will concerning the
new steeple. Perhaps we don't need it-perhaps I'm wrong.
But please give it prayerful thought this week. It is my firm
conviction that something needs to be done, and done