The Preacher's Wife. Cheryl St.John

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СКАЧАТЬ “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 СКАЧАТЬ