The Preacher's Wife
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After she’d taken the reverend his food, the Harts gathered informally in the roomy kitchen.
“Will you pray over the meal, sir?” she asked Samuel.
He said a brief blessing for their food, thanking God for His provision.
“Help Mrs. Randolph with the dishes,” Samuel said after everyone had eaten.
“Please,” she said. “Call me Josie. And I can see to the dishes. Let me show you your rooms so you can get settled.”
Anna drew a breath in excitement, and she and Abigail looked at each other.
“There’s a room for you, Reverend, and one for the girls to share. When we heard you were coming, I set up another narrow bed. Two can sleep on the larger bed and one on the small one.”
He glanced at her, and she noticed creases at the corners of his eyes that he’d earned squinting against the sun. “They’ve been sleeping cramped together on a feather mattress in the wagon. A real bed will be a pleasure we’ve all nearly forgotten.”
She led them upstairs and showed them the two small rooms with sloping ceilings. Anna immediately spread the top half of her body over the larger bed, spreading her arms wide, her cheek pressed against the quilt. She closed her eyes and sighed.
The exhausting effect of their grueling trip couldn’t have been plainer. Samuel exuded strength and purpose, but his stance betrayed weariness. The girls’ fatigue was evident, as well, and there was an uncertainty in their expressions that saddened her.
She pushed open the wide windows so a breeze could filter through. “The reverend gets chilled easily, so I keep the parlor warm for him. With the shade trees, it cools off quickly up here, if you open the windows on both sides of the house.”
“The rooms are nice,” Sam assured her. “Thank you.”
“This is the parsonage—and the reverend is unmarried, so he doesn’t use these rooms. I simply cleaned and aired them out before your arrival. We weren’t sure when you’d be here.”
“We’ll bring in a few of our belongings. Is there a laundry in town?”
“There is, but I’d be glad to take care of it for you.”
“You have no idea what you’d be getting yourself into,” he replied. “Our clothing hasn’t been properly washed since we left Philadelphia. I’d be more comfortable paying someone.”
“The laundry is a small building behind the milliner’s shop. You can’t miss it.”
She excused herself and took care of the dishes and the kitchen, then set out kettles, soap and towels. She made sure Reverend Martin had everything he needed for the evening.
“Thank you, Josie,” he said as she prepared to leave.
“I’ll come make breakfast for our guests in the morning.”
“You spend more time here than you do at your own place,” he said with an appreciative smile.
“There’s not that much for me to do there,” she told him. “I’d rather be useful than sit around and do needlepoint.”
He shook his head. “You deserve a family, Josie.”
“I guess if I was to have one, God would have given one to me by now,” she answered matter-of-factly.
She walked the few blocks toward her home, enjoying the setting sun and the pleasant summer scent of freshly cut grass from the lot beside Mrs. Wilbur’s property.
The Iverson children, along with a couple other neighborhood youngsters, were playing in the yard beside hers as she passed.
“Gretchen! James! Time to come in!” Alice Iverson called from her front steps. She noticed Josie and waved. “How’s the reverend?”
“Doing well,” she called back. “And the interim preacher arrived today.”
“I’ll be looking forward to Sunday.” Alice ushered her two up the painted porch stairs, and the neighbor children scampered home.
Josie observed the Iversons’ movements through the lace curtains of their well-lit dining room windows for a moment before catching herself staring. She turned away to hurry along her own walk and to climb the wooden stairs to the dark and silent two-story house she had once shared with her husband.
After turning her key in the lock, she paused momentarily before pushing open the door.
You deserve a family, Josie. Reverend Martin’s words echoed in her mind like footsteps in a barren house. She’d certainly wanted a family her whole life. She’d thought marrying Bram would fulfill her dream, but it wasn’t meant to be.
She entered the waiting silence.
After locking the door behind her, she made her way past the open stairway to the kitchen, where she lit a lamp and put a kettle of water on the stove.
The clock in the parlor chimed the hour and the melodious sound reverberated throughout the rooms. Josie steeped tea and carried a cup with her as she wandered the main floor, ending up in the dining room.
She could probably polish the silver tomorrow. She had invited the ladies to hold their quilting session here later in the week, so she had tablecloths to iron and a luncheon to plan. She stood in the darkened room, sipping from her cup, idly thinking about the menu. Her gaze wandered to the triple windows and the lights on in the house next door.
Her dining room faced the Iversons’, and by inching aside the curtain, she could observe the family sitting around the table. Karl Iverson was reading aloud while Alice and the two children sat nearby. Alice held something that looked like an embroidery hoop. Before long, she set down her handiwork, and the four of them bowed their heads.
Josie wished she could hear their prayer. She wondered what their needs were. Perhaps they were all prayers of thanksgiving for their health and family. She let the curtain drop back into place. She had as much to be thankful for as the Iversons. She was healthy. Between inheritances from her father and her late husband, she owned a house, half of a newspaper, and had a generous monthly income. God provided her daily needs plus a whole lot more.
“Thank You, Lord, that You meet all my needs,” she said with heartfelt gratitude.
Her thoughts traveled to the Hart family, to those lovely young ladies and the loss and hardships they’d suffered. That day their eyes had spoken of their grief more clearly than any words could have. Reverend Hart possessed a quiet strength. She sensed purpose and dignity in his movements and his words. Something about him kindled suppressed emotions deep inside her. His wife must have been a special person. What a shame those girls wouldn’t have their mother as they grew up.
As she rinsed her cup and dried the kettle, she prayed for the Hart family, asking God to comfort them and give them strength and peace.
The house had grown dark, so she lit an oil lamp and carried it to the washroom behind the kitchen, where she bathed and changed into her nightclothes before climbing the stairs to her room.
Since Bram’s death, she’d chosen to sleep in a different bedroom than the one she’d shared with him. She’d felt thoroughly alone, and had been compelled to make changes. Margaretta had thrown a conniption when Josie had given all of his belongings to the Lydia Closet at church.
“Bram’s barely cold in his grave, and you’re erasing him from your life,” she’d accused in a hurt tone.
It had been six months after Bram’s death, and Josie had been at a place where she needed to do something to move on. She didn’t want to grow old and lonely without making an effort to have a fulfilling life. At the time, Josie had known it would be a waste of breath to share her feelings with Margaretta. “I miss him, too, but someone might as well have use of perfectly good clothing,” she’d told her.
“You might afford my son the dignity of preserving his memory.”
“I’ve kept his watch and wedding ring and his Bible,” she replied. “I have the entire house by which to remember him.”
“No doubt you’ll change that now, too.” The woman had taken several items of clothing from the stacks and turned her back on Josie.
It was her house, Josie had thought all along. She could do with it as she pleased. But she liked it fine just the way it was. She’d selected the furnishings and the decor, so of course it suited her.
No, there was only one thing wrong with the house…. Only one thing that she would change if she had the power. It was painfully, glaringly empty.
After Sam sorted through the contents of the wagon to find the things his daughters needed for the night, he brought in the copper tub, heated water and sat with Henry in the parlor while the girls helped each other bathe.
“I’m thinking I need to spend another night with the wagon,” he told the other man. “I’m too tired to haul more water for a bath, so I’ll get one in town tomorrow.”
“You need a solid rest before you push on to Colorado,” Henry told him.
Sam agreed with a nod. “I want to hear about your church. About the people. You probably have a list of things you need done. I suppose there are visits to make.”
“As one of your first duties, I’d appreciate it if you could call on the Widow Harper. Each spring a few of the men till and plant a garden for her. She’s not a sociable woman, doesn’t join the other ladies in their activities or come to any gatherings except Sunday-morning service. I think I’m the only one who ever goes to visit her, and it’s been a while.”
“After my chores in town are accomplished tomorrow, and I’ve had a bath and haircut, I’ll be glad to call on her. Shall I take my daughters with me?”
“You do as you’re led,” Henry replied. “But if you’re concerned they might be underfoot here, don’t give it another thought. I won’t mind their company. In fact, they might give Josie a break as my companion. She’s probably seen enough of this house and my face.”
“I’ll give them the option,” Sam decided. “They have their studies, and I don’t want them to have fallen behind in their schooling by the time we reach Colorado.”
“They seem like bright young ladies,” Henry observed. “I’m sure that won’t be a problem.”
“Carrie always helped them with their schoolwork.” Sam glanced at the dying embers in the fireplace. “I’m seeing now just how much she did.” He looked up. “Have you ever lost someone, Reverend?”
“My Rosemary died in childbirth fifteen years ago,” Henry replied. “The baby lived only a few hours. A boy, it was. David.”
Fifteen years ago, yet sorrow still tinged his voice when he spoke their names. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Death doesn’t take away the impact they made on our lives or their importance to God.” Henry waited until Sam met his eyes. “To be gone from here is to be present in glory. It doesn’t feel like it now, but I assure you each day will get a little easier. Each week will add more distance from the pain.”
Sam trusted the man’s wisdom, but he wished there was a more immediate answer. It was up to him to raise three daughters and make up for the loss of their mother.
“I’ll see to emptying the tub now and make sure the girls are settled for the night.”
Henry got to his feet.
Sam reached out to steady him. “I’ll bank the fire. Go on to your bed now.”
“You’re going to do fine, Sam. Just fine.”
Nothing felt as though that would be the case, but Sam had to believe it anyway. Would he always feel as though he was enduring one difficult day after another? He didn’t know what to do about it—except pray the reverend was right.
Chapter Three
Josie loved Mondays. On Mondays she had a fresh slate ahead of her, a palette of days that held endless possibilities. A whole new week in which to accomplish as many things as would fit. And this week was even more exciting because there would be tasks aplenty in looking after the interim preacher and his daughters.
She lit the oven, heated water and set full pitchers and towels outside each bedroom door. While coffee boiled, she fried bacon and mixed batter for flapjacks.
When she checked back, Reverend Martin hadn’t picked up his water, so she tapped on the door.
“I’m awake, Josie. C’mon in.”
He was lying propped on his pillows. “How are you feeling this morning?” she asked.
“Weak as a baby, and tired of it to be sure.”
She placed a towel across his lap, prepared his razor and stirred shaving powder into froth with the brush. She handed him the mirror. “I don’t mind shaving you.”
She’d performed the task many times when he couldn’t bear to move.
“I feel like I’ve taken a step backward.”
“Not at all. Your color is good. That wound is healed, and you’re eating well. You’re just a little tired.”
“Hand me the razor, Josie. Your optimism inspires me to push forward.”
She handed him the straightedge. “How would you like your eggs?”
“Any way you turn them out will set just fine with me.”
“I’ll be back for your water. I could send Reverend Hart in to help you dress this morning.”
“You’re hereby relieved of that task.”
As she reached the kitchen, the back door opened, and the man she’d just spoken of entered the house. His clothing was rumpled and dark whiskers shadowed his jaw. He seemed larger than he had the day before, but his direct gaze had the same disturbing effect on her. She stopped in her tracks and pointed to the ceiling. “You—I left water for you upstairs.”
“I slept in the wagon. Today I’ll store our belongings and bathe in town. I’ll sleep upstairs tonight.”
“Forgive my rudeness. I was surprised to see you coming in when I hadn’t heard you go out.”
“You weren’t rude, Mrs. Randolph.”
She was embarrassed by her reaction at seeing him and spoke too quickly. “Your whereabouts are none of my business, and you certainly don’t have to explain yourself.”
“May I take water out to the back porch to wash and shave?”
“Certainly. Of course. I wasn’t thinking.” She lifted a basin from a nail in the pantry and poured warm water into it. “Let me get soap and a towel for you. After you’ve had your breakfast, would you mind helping Reverend Martin with his clothing?”
“Won’t mind a bit.” He nodded, took the things she handed him and headed out.
“You certainly made a fool of yourself, Josie,” she said in irritation, then turned back to the stove.
A few minutes later, Abigail and Anna arrived wearing clean dresses. Their freshly washed hair was arranged in loose waves down their backs.
“Well, look at the two of you,” Josie said, hands on hips and a smile spread across her face. “Aren’t you lovely. I’ve never seen hair so pretty and shiny in all my days.” Her own dark hair was wavy and never tended to stay where she pinned it.
Anna beamed.
“Our mama had pretty hair,” Abigail told her.
“If you girls take after her, she must have been beautiful.”
“She was,” Abigail agreed.
“Are you flattering my sisters?” Elisabeth asked.
Josie turned to the oldest Hart sibling now standing in the doorway. “I complimented them. I see you’ve worn your hair loose today, too. I like the way it shines.”
Elisabeth gave Josie an unreadable glance and took a seat at the table.
Josie prepared a tray and carried it in to where Reverend Martin sat propped in bed, clean-shaven.
“Breakfast smells wonderful,” he told her.
She rinsed out his shaving supplies in the clean water left in the pitcher, then carried the supplies from the room.
By then, Samuel had returned with the empty enamel basin.
“Looks like there are quite a few towels to launder today,” he said, glancing at the basket in the corner. “I can take them when I go into town.”
“That’s not necessary. I’ll do them,” she said. “Monday is my usual laundry day. The girls can help.”
Elisabeth’s eyes widened. “But we’re in a town now. You can send them out, can’t you?”
“I don’t pay for services I can do myself,” Josie answered in surprise. Most preachers earned only a modest income. Reverend Martin kept a strict budget. She glanced at Samuel, now regretting she’d spoken so quickly. Perhaps the Harts had family money. She had no business questioning his expenditures.
“My wife took care of the domestic chores,” he explained. “But I see no reason why my daughters can’t learn a bit of self-sufficiency. They’ll need the skills sooner than later.” He looked at Elisabeth. “This morning while I’m in town, I want the three of you to take directions from Mrs. Randolph. I’m sure she’ll be fair about dividing the duties according to your ages and abilities.”
Elisabeth’s cheeks darkened and she refused to look up at Josie or her father. “Yes, sir.”
“Yes, sir,” the other two echoed.
“What can I do, Mrs. Randolph?” Anna asked with bright enthusiasm. “I’m a good helper.”
“We’ll find you a suitable chore,” Josie replied, and then gestured for Samuel to take a seat. “Please.”
She served the meal she had prepared, and the reverend said grace before they ate.
Elisabeth didn’t speak or raise her gaze the entire time.
“Do any girls or boys live by here?” Anna asked.
“There’s a family down two houses,” Josie replied. “Susanna Maxwell is probably about your age. How old are you?”
“I’m nine,” Anna replied proudly. “Can I see your room?”
Josie glanced up. “I don’t live here,” she explained. “This is the parsonage. I have my own home a few blocks away.”
“Oh.” Anna set down her fork. “How come you don’t eat with your family?”
Elisabeth finally raised her gaze in interest.
Josie touched her napkin to her lips. “I’m a widow.”
Anna glanced from her father to Josie with a puzzled expression. “What does widow mean?”
“It means my husband died,” Josie replied.
Anna seemed to consider that for a minute. “Are you a widow, Papa?”
He held his mouth in a grim line, but he answered, “‘Widower’ is the term for a man.”
“Why?”
“You’ve asked enough questions for one meal,” he said. “Let Mrs. Randolph finish her breakfast.”
“Yes, sir.” Anna picked up her fork.
Sam explained that he’d be back that afternoon and what their choices were. “When I return, I’ll expect you to have decided whether or not you’re coming with me when I go calling.”
Anna sat on the edge of her chair and beseeched her father with eyes open wide. Her eagerness to say something forced Josie to hold back a laugh.
Samuel set down his cup. “What do you want to ask, Anna?”
Her expression showed her relief. “Who’s gonna help me with my letters and numbers?”
Elisabeth and Abigail glanced at each other. Apparently their mother had guided their lessons.
“Until we move on to Colorado and get you settled in a school, Elisabeth will help you.”
Anna frowned at her older sister. “She doesn’t do it the way Mama did.”
“Regardless, she will be your helper over the summer. You will answer to me if she reports you’ve given her any difficulty. Understood?”
His youngest daughter sat back meekly. “Yes, sir.”
He strode from the room.
Elisabeth was an efficient yet silent helper. After the meal was cleaned up, Josie got out the washtubs and heated water. She showed the girls how to make proper suds, scrub the towels and sheets on the washboard, then rinse and run them through the wringer. Anna thought the wringer was great fun, though she needed help to turn it as thick material was fed through.
Elisabeth was the tallest as well as the most precise when it came to hanging the laundry to dry, so she helped Josie while Abigail moved the baskets and handed them clothespins. Elisabeth performed the task capably, spacing the garments just so, using the same number of pins for each neatly stretched sheet.
“You do such a perfect job,” Josie told her. “I’d never know you hadn’t done this a hundred times before.”
Without a word, Elisabeth clamped the last wooden pin to the final pillowcase and wiped her hands on the apron Josie had loaned her. Josie knew the girl would have much preferred her father pay to have the task performed, but that wasn’t because she was lazy. Her work had proven that.
At noon Josie sliced ham and cheese for sandwiches. Samuel hadn’t returned yet, and she invited the girls to eat in the study with the reverend. From the pleased look on his face, their young guests were just the medicine he needed. Several church members had been faithful visitors and he’d even held a Wednesday-evening study at the house the past few weeks, but months of pain and inactivity had grated on the man who was accustomed to being active and independent.
“Maybe there’s a skillful checker player in our midst today,” Josie suggested.
Reverend Martin’s amused gaze shot to hers. “Your implication has been recorded.”
Glad to see him in a cheerful mood, she laughed and a discussion of who would play checkers ensued. “Do you like bread pudding?” she finally asked to deter the subject.
“I love it,” Abigail replied. “Mama always made lemon sauce.”
“I think I’ll make a pan. Would you like to help? I’ll go home for my cookbook and find a recipe for lemon sauce.”
Abigail’s face lit up, but her glance edged to her older sister.
“What about going calling with Father?” Elisabeth asked.
“Papa said we could decide,” Abigail replied. “I want to stay here and bake.”
“Suit yourself. I’m going with Father.”
“Can I come to your house with you?” Anna asked.
“I’d love your company,” Josie replied. “It’s just a short walk.”
“Do you have a dog or a cat?”
Josie shook her head.
“I have Daisy,” Reverend Martin said. “Silly cat’s been hiding since yesterday.”
“You have a cat?” Anna asked.
“I’m guessing she’s in that bedroom there. She likes to lie on the window seat in the sun. I wouldn’t try to catch her. She might scratch you.”
A little while later, Anna enjoyed the yards they passed and asked about the neighbors. Once they reached Josie’s, she was fascinated by everything in the house, not touching, but commenting and asking questions.
“Did you live here when you were a little girl?” she asked.
“No,” Josie answered. “My father traveled a lot, and my mother and I often stayed at my grandmother’s.”
“How come you don’t have any little girls or boys?”
If Josie couldn’t answer that for herself, she certainly didn’t know how to explain it to a nine-year-old. “I don’t know,” she replied. “I just don’t.”
“Do you want a baby?”
Josie appreciated her innocent candor. She stopped in front of the cupboard where she’d gone to find a cookbook and looked down at Anna. “I wanted a baby very much,” she said honestly. “But I have friends and tasks to keep me busy, and I think about the good things I do have, rather than what I don’t have.”
“That’s prob’ly good,” Anna said convincingly. She watched Josie select a cookbook. “Was it hard to not think about your mama at first? ’Cause I think about my mama a lot, and it makes me sad.”
“I still think about her, but now I remember the time we spent together and the things she taught me. I’m still sad that I don’t have her, but missing her doesn’t hurt like it used to. It’s okay to be sad,” she assured the child. “We miss the people we love when they’re gone.”
Anna nodded solemnly.
Josie had the urge to lean down and hug the child, but Anna barely knew her, and Josie didn’t want to overstep. “Now let’s find a recipe that sounds like your mama’s lemon sauce.”
Anna smiled, revealing four new front teeth and a side one missing. She was naively honest, charmingly inquisitive and altogether adorable.
After searching and finding what they wanted, they returned to the reverend’s with the cookbook. Elisabeth immediately took Anna aside and spoke to her in soft tones Josie couldn’t hear.
Elisabeth hadn’t warmed to Josie, and it seemed she wasn’t comfortable with the fact that Anna had taken to her. Elisabeth got out a slate and chalk and helped Anna with numbers.
Some time later, Josie and Abigail were planning the evening meal when Samuel rode past the house on horseback. He had obviously bathed and shaved, and his neatly trimmed chestnut hair shone in the sunlight. He wore a new pair of denim trousers, a pale blue shirt and a string tie.