The Preacher's Bride (Brides of Simpson Creek) (14 page)

“Oh, yes, my lack of grammar skills,” she retorted. “Fine, treat Yancey Merriwell like he’s your new son. Just be sure and lock your cash drawer until you’ve known him a few more days, would you?”

“Faith Letticia Bennett!”
her father roared. “That’s enough! You have no reason
to make such an outrageous slander!”

She’d never seen her father so angry—red-faced and shaking, a vein bulging in his temple. And then she remembered why he’d sought to hire an assistant in the first place.
What if their angry confrontation caused him to have a heart attack or an apoplexy such as Gil’s father had suffered?

“I—I’m sorry, Papa!” she cried, rushing forward, searching his face for any hint he was about to collapse. “I’m sorry,” she repeated, reaching out a shaking hand. “I apologize. You’re right. I had no basis for my accusations, just...”
Just jealousy that you care so much for a stranger, and can’t see I need to feel important to you.

Her father looked weary and a score of years older suddenly, but the high color was fading from his cheeks and his breathing slowing. “I forgive you, Faith,” he said slowly. “I’m sorry if I...have seemed...overenthusiastic about Merriwell. I—I’m just trying to do the right thing by you and your mother, to assure your future...”

“I know... Are you all right, Papa? Not having any chest pains, are you?”

“I’m all right,” he assured her. “The medicine Doc Walker gave me seems to be helping. Don’t worry about me. Are you ready to go back home?”

And have her mother—or worse yet Merriwell—see her tear-swollen face?

“I think I’ll stay here awhile, Papa,” she murmured, and watched as he trudged away, his shoulders sagging.

Some moral, upright woman she was! What kind of loving daughter raged at a parent with a bad heart, even after what her father had done?
Suddenly she felt guilt washing over her like flood waters, each wave swamping her with despair.
She was a selfish, horrible person—no wonder her father didn’t love her!

Then suddenly she was enfolded in warm, strong arms, and a familiar voice asked, “Faith? Faith, what’s wrong? I heard you weeping... Please, sweetheart, don’t cry...”

Gil.
He had heard her weeping, and he had called her
sweetheart.
In a moment she would have to pull herself out of his arms and remind him of the reasons why he must not be holding her like this, but right now she just couldn’t. It felt too comforting.

Chapter Fourteen

G
il was sure nothing he’d ever experienced felt as good as holding this woman in his arms, stroking her hair, feeling the deep shuddering sobs gradually subside into regular breathing. But he needed to find out why she had been keening like her heart was breaking within her.
Had someone died?
Dr. Walker had confided that Mr. Bennett’s heart wasn’t strong, and had asked him to pray for the man, but Gil thought he’d seen Faith’s father walking away from the creek moments ago as Gil had left the parsonage and descended the creek bank.

He thought back to his encounter with Faith and that new employee of Mr. Bennett, Yancey Merriwell, earlier in the day—of the mocking smile on Merriwell’s face as he’d proudly proclaimed himself a “freethinker”—which was another word for pagan as far as Gil could see. He hadn’t missed the gleam in the Georgian’s eyes as he’d gazed at Faith, either, and it had made him sick at heart.
Had Merriwell—

“Was it your father’s new employee, Faith? Did that man hurt you somehow? He didn’t—”

“No, Merriwell didn’t do anything...” she wailed, crying again, and he held her while the storm raged, relieved that at least he wasn’t going to have to pound Merriwell into a bloody pulp.

“Then what has you so upset, Faith?”

Then it all tumbled out, what she’d said to her father, how her father had asked Merriwell to take Faith to dinner at the hotel without consulting her on the matter, how she’d accused her father of favoring his new employee over his own daughter, how Faith felt her father had never valued her. How she’d feared her anger would make her father keel over dead because of his weak heart.

“Mr. Bennett seemed all right to me, Faith,” he said. Then when her gaze sharpened, he said, “I didn’t eavesdrop on your conversation. I happened to step outside the parsonage and spotted him walking away toward your house.”

Faith seemed somewhat reassured by that, so he gathered his courage and went on, selecting his words with care. The last thing he wanted to do was help widen the rift between father and daughter, even though he thought Mr. Bennett had been clumsy with Faith’s feelings and foolish not to use her help when she was so eager to give it.

“I’m sure your father forgives you for what you said, just as you forgive him for telling Merriwell to take you to dinner without asking you, don’t you? It was clever of you to make use of Polly’s sudden appearance, though. I’ll bet she’s never thought of herself as a chaperone, did she?”

That coaxed a smile from Faith, as he’d been hoping. “The poor man hardly got a word in edgewise after Polly started talking,” she told him. “Poor Polly. She seemed to like the man, but I’m sure he’ll steer clear of her now.”

They were quiet for a time, the only sounds coming from the chirping of crickets and the occasional splash of a fish below.

“I—I violated one of the Commandments, didn’t I?” she asked suddenly, startling him. “The one about honoring one’s father and mother?”

“The fifth Commandment,” he murmured automatically. He wondered why she cared, if she didn’t believe in the Giver of the Commandments, but even nonbelievers had consciences.

“Yes, by speaking angrily to your father, I suppose you did, but on the other hand, you wouldn’t have been ‘honoring’ him by going along with something you feel to be wrong, or turning a blind eye to his trusting a man who may or may not be worthy of that trust. And in Ephesians the Lord tells fathers not to ‘provoke their children to wrath,’” he told her. “Would you like me to talk to him about Merriwell, see if I could help?” Gil wasn’t at all sure how Faith’s father would feel about a man scarcely older than his daughter counseling him, but he
was
the town’s pastor.

“No, I don’t think Papa will steer Merriwell toward me again, now that I’ve made my feelings clear,” she said. “But thanks. I suppose I ought to tell Papa again I’m sorry for yelling at him, though.”

“You’ll sleep better if you do,” he agreed. “But, Faith, none of us gets through life without making mistakes—violations of the Commandments, if you will. That’s why we need a Savior.”

Faith’s face took on a guarded look and she turned away.

I’ve gone too far,
Gil thought. He didn’t want her to leave, even if it was getting dark.

“I—I’d better go,” she said. “I—I’m sorry for wetting your shirt,” she added, pointing to his damp shirt front with an attempt at a smile.

“I’m not sorry,” he assured her. “Anytime you want to talk—or cry—I’ll be here for you, Faith.”

* * *

Faith was full of conflicting emotions as she walked in the gathering darkness the short distance from the creek to her home. While he’d been comforting her as she wept, Gil had called her sweetheart.

Did he regret saying it, the moment the word had passed his lips, knowing it contradicted the stance he had taken about a relationship between the two of them?

Yet despite that, she had reveled in the word.
Sweetheart.
No matter how little sense it made in light of their conflicting philosophies, she would not have him unsay it for the world.

Because she loved him.

It was as simple as that, and as complex. Because what was she going to do about it, knowing he believed in a God that cared about humankind, while she had believed if there was a God, He didn’t care about the people He’d supposedly created?

She wanted to believe, if only to be worthy of Gil. But that wasn’t enough, was it?

What was that Scripture verse he had quoted?
Lord, I believe. Help thou mine unbelief.

What would happen if she prayed that prayer, not knowing if there was anyone up there to hear it? Was it a lie to say she believed when the strength of her belief was so tiny it almost didn’t exist at all?

With God, all things are possible.

Where had
that
come from?
She’d learned the verse at her mother’s knee long ago.

If nothing was impossible, why hadn’t Eddie lived?
a voice hissed within her.

She didn’t know, she couldn’t know, and for once, for this moment, it was all right. Peace settled over her as she reached the front porch of her house. Peace, and assurance that somehow, she and Gil would find a way.

“Oh, there you are, Faith. I was beginning to get worried,” her mother said at the door, her familiar figure backlit by the lamp still burning in the parlor. “Are you all right, dear? Your papa said you were upset, but that you were going to stay by the creek a few minutes...”

“Is he...okay?”

Her mother nodded. “He was tired and he went to bed, but he seemed all right. Maybe a little worried about you, that’s all.”

Faith winced inwardly. “I—I said some things I shouldn’t have said,” she admitted. “I told him I was sorry, but...” She felt tears threatening to spill again, but she willed them away with steely resolve. She had cried enough for one night.

“Faith, I know why you were angry and I understand,” her mother said. “To some extent, I agree with you about how your father’s been acting about Mr. Merriwell. I don’t think he realized it, Faith, but he does now.”

“He—he does?” That he had talked to her mother about it spoke volumes.

Lydia Bennett nodded. “He never meant to hurt you by it, Faith. Oh, men can be oblivious sometimes to the way their actions affect their women, sure enough, and sometimes they underestimate what we can do, but when it comes right down to it, he’s motivated by his love for us. He’s worried about the future, Faith. He doesn’t think I know about his visit with Dr. Walker, but I do.”

Faith stared at her mother, startled by the quiet words. The woman had betrayed no hint of her knowledge before.

“Dr. Walker thought I should know,” her mother went on, “so I could be alert for symptoms that might indicate his heart is getting worse—shortness of breath, chest pains, swelling in his feet... So I can make sure he doesn’t get too tired, without his knowing I’m being watchful.” She sighed. “Men do have their pride, you know.”

Faith glanced into the parlor before speaking again. It was empty, but she lowered her voice a notch nevertheless. “Mama, what do
you
think about Yancey Merriwell?”

Her mother studied Faith before replying. “I’m still making up my mind. Oh, he’s a little full of himself, right enough, but that may be all it is. Until I know one way or another, though, I’ve moved the household money your papa gives me, and that gold pocket watch your papa never remembers to wear, to a safe place.” Her mother winked.

Her commonsense approach was so comforting, so typical of her mother, that Faith impulsively hugged her. “I love you, Mama.”

“I love you, too, dear. Did you get things all settled in your head, down by the creek?”

Faith found herself smiling. “Gil helped a bit,” she said. “He...happened to see me down at the creek after Papa left, so he came down and we talked,” she said.

“He’s a good man, Faith.”

“Yes...” Faith sighed. “But...”

“But?”

“How do you know if a man is...is the right one? And please don’t tell me ‘you just know,’” Faith said.

“All right, I won’t,” her mother said, smiling a little at Faith’s vehemence. “I know that’s not helpful when a body’s trying to decide, even if it is true. But I will say in the end it’s a leap of faith somewhat. You just have to jump, with enough confidence that you’ve made the right choice and that man will catch you.”

Faith groaned. Did everything come down to faith in the end, the one thing she was in short supply of?

“Don’t you talk about these things in Spinsters’ Club meetings?” Lydia Bennett asked. “Seems to me the spinsters who have married are in a pretty good position to advise the rest of you.”

It was a good suggestion. She’d be seeing the ladies day after tomorrow at the box social supper. Maybe during the setting-up time, she’d get a chance to talk to Milly, Sarah, Prissy and Caroline on this subject.

She suddenly remembered she hadn’t done anything about decorating the box that would contain her supper or decided what to cook. Tomorrow, she had to get cracking!

Would Gil bid on her contribution, she wondered later as she tried to drift off into sleep, or would he feel he’d betrayed his stance about not courting a nonbeliever, and deliberately bid on someone—anyone—else’s?

* * *

“And Lord, please watch over young Runs Like a Deer, and cause his leg to continue to heal,” Gil prayed a few mornings later in the church sanctuary. He’d been thinking of the Indian boy this morning, and hoped his leg was on the mend. And that the Comanche band had moved on by now, so they were no longer a threat to the Simpson Creek area. “Thanks for all the blessings You bestow on us, and help us to show others how much You love them—particularly Faith. Lord, help her to believe in You—”

Behind him, he heard the church door creak open, and the sound of bootheels echoing on the plank flooring.

“Pardon me, Reverend...”

Gil opened his eyes and turned, seeing that the speaker was Luis Menendez, Sheriff Bishop’s young deputy.

“Deputy Menendez,
buenas dias
to you. What can I do for you today?”

“
Buenas dias
to you, too, sir. Sheriff Bishop was wondering if you could come down to the jail for a few moments. Major McConley is there and wanted to speak to you about your recent experience with the Indians.”

Gil sighed inwardly. Just when he had been hoping the cavalry’s scrutiny would have shifted to something else...

“Of course, Deputy. Tell the sheriff I’ll be right there. I just want to check on my father first.” His father had been doing all right in the last few days without the presence of his spinster nurses, but Gil still kept a close eye on him.

He found the cavalry officer ensconced in the chair opposite Sam Bishop’s desk, talking to the sheriff. The man straightened as Gil entered.

“Reverend Gil, thanks for coming down,” Sam greeted him. “This is Major McConley, commanding officer for the nearby detachment of the U.S. Cavalry. Major, Reverend Gil is our pastor at the Simpson Creek Church.”

The cavalry officer extended his hand. “Reverend, an honor. But, Sheriff, I thought I’d met your preacher—isn’t he an older man? I hope he didn’t...”

“My father is recovering from the effects of an apoplexy, Major, that’s caused him problems with speaking. I’m taking his place.”

“I see. He’s a fine man, your father. Please give him my best wishes for a return to complete health.”

“Thank you, sir, I will.”

The major peered at him closely. “Speaking of healing, you appear to be healing up from your scrape with the redskins, Reverend. Sheriff Bishop tells me you were quite the worse for wear.”

Gil nodded. “I thank God I was able to escape. Have you...found any sign of the Comanches?”

The major shook his head. “Nary a trace, but there’s so much ground to cover...we could have just missed it. Folks still need to be careful.”

“But I’m told they’re a wandering people,” Gil said. “Maybe they moved camp right after they attacked me.”

Gil saw the major’s eyes narrow and hoped he hadn’t come across as a little too eager to believe the Indians were gone. He’d have to wonder why.

“It’s true that the hunting and raiding bands range widely,” McConley acknowledged. “Sheriff Bishop tells me you started out riding north, but when you ran into the Indians you just let the horse pick his direction and concentrated on escape. Natural enough, I suppose. Can you remember markings on their lances or arrows, or the feathers in their hair, anything like that? That can be distinct to a particular band, and our scouts—often Indians of other tribes or half-breeds—can sometimes identify the band from those markings. Did they wear warpaint? Did their horses? Any particular hairstyle, or I was hoping you’d remembered something else about your experience, something that might help us narrow down the area to search.”

Gil thought hard. “It all happened so fast... No, they weren’t wearing warpaint nor were their horses painted. Some of them had feathers dangling from their lances, some didn’t. Their hair was loose and long, as I recall. I didn’t see any of the arrows, but they had quivers of them on their backs.”