The Preacher's Bride (Brides of Simpson Creek) (11 page)

“We were just talking about miracles, Sheriff. My father walked this morning,” Gil told him.

The sheriff’s guarded, taut features relaxed somewhat. “That’s real fine, Reverend Gil. Glad to hear it.”

“Was there something I could help you with, Sheriff?” Gil asked.

“Maybe,” Bishop said, and glanced at Faith, seemingly hesitant.

Faith rose. “If you need to talk to Reverend Gil privately, Sheriff, I could go back to the parsonage—”

“There’s no need,” Bishop said, “because I’m told you already know about this, Miss Faith. Gil, Miss Maude came to see me bright and early this morning. She was pale as bleached bones—said Faith had just told her you’d had a run-in with some Comanches, Reverend Gil. And because you look like the loser in a fight,” he added, indicating Gil’s face, “seems she was telling the truth.”

“Oh, dear...I didn’t think how much any talk of Comanches would upset Maude,” she said, twisting a fold of her skirt. She turned to Gil. “I stopped at the boarding house this morning before I came to the parsonage, just to tell her you’d gotten home because she was worried about you, too.”

Maude’s eyes had widened when Faith told her about Gil encountering Indians, but Faith had been in a hurry to get to the parsonage and she hadn’t thought any more about it. Now, too late, she realized how upsetting her news must have been. “Neither of you were living here when the Comanches raided Simpson Creek a couple of years back, but Doc Harkey, her father, was one of those killed in the attack.”

Gil nodded, his face somber. “Yes, I remember my father telling me about it.”

“Where were you when you came upon the Comanches?” Sheriff Bishop asked.

“I started out going north, but after encountering those braves, I gave the horse his head and let him run wherever he would, just to escape. I actually got a bit lost,” Gil said with a shrug.

“How many Comanches?”

Gil told him.

“Three? Probably just a hunting party,” Bishop said. “Still, I reckon we ought to get word of this incident to the cavalry, so they can step up their patrols of the area.”

Was she imagining it or did she see Gil tense next to her?
Why?

“I’m sure you’re right, Sheriff, but those braves are more than likely many miles from here by now,” Gil said.

“Their camp could be nearby,” Bishop countered. “They’re a nomadic people, but they frequently stay in one place for a season. The young men go out in small hunting parties to bring meat back to the camp. But sometimes they get greedy and go after livestock and—” He glanced at Faith and seemed to think better of what he’d been about to say. “Anyway, I’ll pass the word around so everyone’s on guard.”

Faith couldn’t suppress a shiver, remembering the terrifying day of the raid. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Gil glance at her in concern.

“I think I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Gil said. “But the Lord saved me from any worse harm than a few bruises and cuts.”

“Thank God,” the sheriff responded. “I’ll be going now. Good day, Miss Faith. You take care of yourself, Reverend.”

Of course they would give God the credit for Gil’s safe return, but Faith thought he’d merely been very lucky.
But why did Gil seem to visibly relax once Bishop had gone?

Chapter Eleven

“N
ow that it’s just us men again,” Gil said to his father when Faith left for the day, “do you want to sit and read your Bible while I work on my sermon some more, Papa?” Gil wasn’t sure if his father could actually read since he’d had his stroke, but it seemed to comfort him to hold his Bible and look at it at least.

But his father beckoned for him to come and sit beside him at the kitchen table. Then the old man pointed at Gil’s face.

He’d known his father’s inquiry was coming. This morning, when Gil had helped him get out of bed, he’d peered at Gil curiously, but perhaps he’d held off trying to ask because he knew his nurse for the day would arrive at any moment.

Gil took a deep breath. “You’re the only one I can tell the whole story to, Papa,” he said, and told him the entire tale of his ride into the hills, his discovery of the Comanche boy and subsequent capture by the Comanche warriors, and his certainty, for a time, that he wouldn’t survive the adventure. He showed him the wounds Faith hadn’t seen because his shirt and shoes had covered them.

“So you see why I can’t tell everything, Papa,” he concluded. “I wouldn’t want anything to happen to that boy after his father made them release me.”

The old man nodded, but his eyes looked troubled.

“I know, I’m not entirely at peace with it, either,” Gil confessed. After what had happened in his seminary days, he’d promised the Lord—and himself—that he’d never lie again. But by not telling Faith the whole truth, he’d as good as lied to her.

Should he tell her exactly what had happened, but request that she keep silent about the Comanche camp for the sake of Runs Like a Deer? A preacher had to be discreet about personal information he was entrusted with. Wasn’t this a similar situation?

And what about the larger secret he’d been keeping, about the time he had lost his own faith for a while? He’d never even told his father about that. Would it help Faith to know that he had once gone through a time when tragedy had caused him to question the very existence of the Lord? The sin that had preceded the tragedy certainly didn’t show him in a very good light.

His mind shrank from the thought of admitting what he had done while he was a callow seminary student. Yet might it not help Faith to know that he, too, had had to struggle to regain his belief in God?

He’d have to pray about it for sure.

* * *

Since all the members of the Spinsters’ Club would be at church on Sunday, even Milly Brookfield and Caroline Collier from their outlying ranches, it had been decided to hold the tea in honor of the birth of Sarah Walker’s baby daughter at the church social hall that afternoon.

They had also invited Daisy Henderson to join them because the woman had seemed lonely. Now, sitting with the others, she seemed shyly happy to be included.

“Jack wanted to know why we were calling it a ‘tea’ because he saw us carrying in so many delicious-smelling covered dishes,” Caroline Wallace remarked wryly, nodding toward the overladen table.

“I’m serving tea, aren’t I?” Prissy Bishop responded with a grin, pouring the beverage into flower-painted china cups that had been her mother’s legacy. “And we’re having cucumber and watercress sandwiches as well as everything else. That makes it a tea, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, he was just hoping for an invitation to come help himself to a plateful,” Caroline responded wryly, and the others chuckled.

Faith had to smile at the image of Caroline’s rancher husband holding one of the delicate tea cups in his work-roughened rancher’s hands and taking his turn admiring Elizabeth, Sarah’s infant daughter, who was being passed around and admired.

“No one has to worry that he’ll starve, though,” Milly put in. “My husband invited Jack to join him, Sarah’s and Prissy’s husbands to dinner at the hotel while we’re having the party. They included Reverend Gil and his father, too,” she added, looking at Faith.

Faith felt herself flushing as others turned in her direction, too. She was aware that Polly’s eyes had narrowed. “It’s such a blessing the old reverend is feeling well enough to go, isn’t it?” Faith remarked to the group.

“Yes, I imagine the five of them are keeping Ella hopping, providing second and third helpings,” Prissy said, referring to the only spinster who’d been unable to attend the party because she waitressed at the hotel restaurant. “Poor Ella, always working so hard. We’ll have to make sure she’s able to attend the next spinsters event—”

“Which would be the box social,” Polly said, inserting herself into the conversation, “which is actually more in keeping with the real purpose for which we set up the Spinsters’ Club in the first place—as I’m sure Milly will confirm, won’t you?” she asked, turning to the group’s founder.

For a moment, it was so quiet in the social hall that little Elizabeth’s baby noises seemed abnormally loud. Everyone stared at Polly. Faith was dismayed to see Daisy Henderson looking distinctly uneasy. Did she now feel unwelcome, thanks to Polly’s pushy and condescending attitude? Faith tore her gaze away from Daisy and back toward Milly, hoping the plucky woman who had been the first Spinsters’ Club bride would give Polly the comeuppance she so richly deserved. But Milly seemed too shocked to form a reply.

“That was indeed our primary purpose in starting this group,” Faith heard herself say.

Polly looked surprised at Faith’s sudden apparent support and smiled triumphantly—but prematurely.

“But I believe everyone would agree that we’ve become so much more,” Faith went on. “We’ve grown into a group of ladies whose purpose is fellowship, whether that purpose involves matchmaking, or celebrating the birth of the offspring of our members, such as sweet little Elizabeth there,” she said, gesturing toward Sarah’s baby. For a moment she couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to have a baby of her own.
But no, she mustn’t think about that.

There were murmurs of support around the circle of ladies, and the tense, anxious expression on Daisy Henderson’s face relaxed.

But Polly was not to be deterred. “Of course we enjoy each other’s company. I’m certainly not saying anything contrary to that. But did you notice the poster for the box social on the door of the social hall, ladies? Your father was so kind to do them for us gratis, Faith,” she said, fluttering her eyelashes at her. “I’ve also put up posters in the mercantile and the post office, and Caroline’s brother has ridden over to San Saba, Lampasas and other nearby towns and posted them in similar places there. I’m expecting each of us to use our creativity to decorate our supper boxes. Each box will go to the highest bidder, so I know you ladies will make each one as pretty and appealing as possible.”

Faith saw wary nods.

“And what becomes of the money we raise?” Louisa Wheeler asked.

Before Polly could speak, Maude did. “We usually donate to the town’s Society for the Deserving Poor.”

Polly gave a gusty, put-upon sigh. “I wish we could keep it to fund more elaborate Spinsters’ Club events to attract a more
affluent
sort of bachelor...”

Milly rolled her eyes at this pronouncement, which Polly fortunately missed because she was looking at Maude. Faith stifled a giggle.

“But I suppose that would be
frowned
upon,” Polly went on. “Very well, we’ll give the proceeds to the poor.”

Kate Patterson, one of the newer members, asked, “This event is open to the rest of the town, too, isn’t it?”

“Of course. We’ll raise more money for the deserving poor that way,” Polly said. “Husbands will bid for their wives’ supper boxes, so the married ladies certainly won’t be any competition for us spinsters,” she said with an airy wave. “Are there any other questions, ladies?”

“I think it’s time we presented Sarah and Elizabeth with the gifts we’ve brought, don’t you, ladies?” Milly said, and the next hour was spent admiring the dainty clothes, crocheted blankets and embroidered bibs brought for Sarah and the doctor’s new daughter.

* * *

“Thanks for speaking up when Polly was being so rude and pushy, Faith,” Prissy said as Faith, Milly and Caroline helped Prissy load dishes, glassware and silverware onto Milly’s buckboard to be carried to Prissy’s house. “I wanted to, but I couldn’t possibly have responded in a Christian way just then, as you did.”

“I—I did?” Faith found the idea that she had done anything in a Christ-like way startling.
If they only knew.

“Of course you did,” Milly agreed. “You reminded her that fellowship with our sisters in Christ is even more important than finding husbands.”

“Thank you, but you ladies are probably giving me too much credit,” Faith said uneasily. “I was just afraid she was making Sarah uncomfortable, because we were celebrating the birth of her baby rather than plotting to lure bachelors to Simpson Creek, and Daisy, too, because she’s just lost her husband.”

“And you steered her very diplomatically but firmly,” Caroline put in. “Well done, Faith.” She glanced at the small gold watch pinned to the bodice of her dress. “Milly, we’d better get these things over to Prissy’s, so we’ll be back here to meet Isaiah when he comes to take us back home.”

“Oh, good, I’m glad you two will have one of the hands with you,” Faith said, “after Reverend
Gil met up with those Comanches the other day. I think you’re so brave being out there on the ranch with your husband gone, Milly, even if Caroline and Jack are your neighbors. Aren’t you afraid sometimes?”

“Oh, the Lord will protect me and our son,” Milly said. “With the help of the cowhands Nick left at the ranch.”

“My Sam says those braves that attacked Reverend Gil were probably just a hunting party that’s long gone from the area anyway,” Prissy said.

“Besides, our ranch is completely the other direction from where Reverend Gil encountered the Comanches, from what I heard,” Milly added. “And I’ve become a crack shot with a Winchester, if I do say so myself. But I would welcome some company. Faith, why don’t you and Reverend Gil drive out to see us sometime, now that his father’s doing so well? That would give you two a nice long ride together out there and back.”

“Reverend Gil and I aren’t courting,” Faith insisted, uncomfortable again.

“Whyever not?” Prissy asked. “He’s so nice, and I can tell he’s sweet on you.”

Faith shrugged and looked away. “I’m not sure I’d make the best preacher’s wife.”

“Horsefeathers,” Milly scoffed. “It’s as plain as a white cat in a mud puddle that you two are meant for each other.”

“I certainly never thought I’d marry Pete’s brother, not after he just showed up with his twins like he did,” Caroline added. “But when the Lord selects our spouses, He has a way of changing our minds to suit His plans for us.”

Faith was very sure she was in charge of her own fate, rather than some invisible, unknowable deity, but she wasn’t about to argue.

* * *

“Ladies, did you have a nice party?” Gil asked, and the four women whirled around to face him from the back of a buckboard. They’d been so intent on lifting an ornate crystal punchbowl into a large padded basket at the back of the wagon that they hadn’t heard him approach. Now he saw smiles on all four faces, but only one of them had a blush blossoming on both cheeks as she recognized him. Faith.

Milly Brookfield found her voice first. “Yes, it was a lot of fun, Reverend Gil. If you were hoping for leftovers, I’m afraid we only had crumbs left,” she teased.

Gil grinned and patted the front of his vest. “No, I’m way too full of roast beef from the hotel. Thank you just the same.”

“Did you and the rest of the men enjoy your meal?” Faith asked him, wishing she could control the heat she’d felt rushing to her cheeks and the way her heart sped up, even while she tried to sound casual.

“Very much so,” he murmured, noting the way the willow-green dress with darker green piping complemented her lovely eyes. “Once they stopped teasing me about my battered face at least. Jack Collier told me I looked like a prizefighter who’d lost his match. It was good seeing Papa laugh. I left him at home dozing, and thought I’d see if you needed help carrying anything. And I see you do,” he said, as she lifted a large pewter platter from the grass where she’d left it while helping the others load the buckboard. “Here, let me help you with that.”

Apparently sensing he’d insist if she tried to decline, she handed it to him, ignoring the chuckles from the others as they drove off. “You know, no one’s going to believe we’re not courting if you do things like that,” she told him. “Prissy winked
at me just now as they left.”

“Things like what? I came to see if I could help any or all of you. You were the only one left.”

She gave him a skeptical look.

“Well, I suppose you could say that was a fib,” he admitted. “I was certainly willing to help any of the ladies, but you’re the one I feel most willing to assist.”

Why had he said that? Gil wondered. Hadn’t he agreed with her that unless she shared his faith, they could not court? Yet he couldn’t seem to keep himself from feeling attracted to her, and from saying things such as he had just said. Her cheeks were pink again and she seemed to be struggling to hide a smile.

Surprisingly, he didn’t feel any sense that his flirting with this woman wasn’t pleasing the Lord.
Could that mean she would regain her faith at some future time?

Perhaps Faith was fighting similar feelings, for her face grew serious. Her eyes met his and she said, “A fib is a little lie, isn’t it? I thought Christians weren’t supposed to lie.”

She wasn’t teasing him back. Was she trying to put distance between them? Yet she hadn’t said it as a taunt, either.

Could this be the very opening he’d been looking for to ease into a discussion of spiritual things?

“No, Christians aren’t supposed to lie,” he said. “But this side of Heaven, we remain fallible beings who merely try our best to do the right thing with God’s help. No one is perfect but God.”

Her eyes were troubled, and he wondered if Faith was thinking God wasn’t so perfect, either, because He’d let her brother die.

By mutual, unspoken consent they drifted over to the bench that sat beneath the big live oak tree at the back of the churchyard, and sat down.