The Preacher's Bride. Laurie Kingery

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      Chapter Five

      Faith was peeling potatoes at the kitchen sink when Gil returned to the parsonage from the undertaker’s.

      “Is everything all right?” Faith asked, after reporting that his father was dozing again. “I mean...if it’s all right for me to ask, that is?” she added quickly.

      There was certainly no reason not to tell her the news, even if he couldn’t tell her all of it.

      After he told her about the death of Mrs. Henderson’s husband, Faith’s lovely green eyes were troubled. “That poor woman, and poor Billy Joe,” she murmured. “Perhaps in time she’ll see it as a blessing in disguise...”

      He didn’t tell her that Mrs. Henderson already did. “The burial will be tomorrow morning,” he said.

      Faith looked thoughtful. “There probably won’t be any other people there, will there? Caroline will be with your father tomorrow, but I could stay here during the funeral, so she could attend—she and Billy Joe were close, you know, because she was his teacher. It would be a comfort to him. And I’ll tell the spinsters and others about it, so they’ll come, too, and Mrs. Henderson won’t feel alone...”

      He was touched by the way her compassion immediately moved her to help in a practical way. “That would be very kind.”

      “And perhaps you could take her some of the food the townspeople have brought by for you and your father? They’ve brought more, even after I put away the bounty of this morning. I found this on the doorstep while you were gone,” she said, pointing to another already-plucked chicken, a cake and a pie. “It’s more than any two people could eat all week, especially when one of them isn’t up to taking solid food yet. Which reminds me, Dr. Walker stopped by and said we could try giving him some soft food very slowly at supper tonight.”

      “Sure, I can take Mrs. Henderson some of the food,” Gil said. “It’s good that you thought of it. And you don’t have to prepare supper—I can see to it,” he said. “It’s all right if you want to go home.” He could remember his mother being just such an energetic individual, with the members of the congregation being as much her concern as his father’s.

      “It’s already cooking,” she said, lifting the lid of a pot on the stove and a savory aroma filled the air. Unless his nose misled him, beef stew simmered within. “Besides, I want to be here when the reverend first tries swallowing soft food. I think he should try applesauce to begin with—Dr. Walker said to make sure it was watered down at first, so it was more like a thick liquid than solid food—until we’re sure he can swallow well.”

      So that his father wouldn’t choke. Gil sighed. His father was going to have to learn to eat all over again, as if he were a baby. Gil said a quick prayer for patience, both for his father and himself—and one of thankfulness for Faith’s nursing ability.

      “I thought once you came home, we could get him up in the wheelchair for a little while,” Faith went on. “The doctor says the more he’s up, the better, but he won’t be able to tolerate being out of bed very long at first.”

      “All right, let’s try it now,” he said, gesturing in the direction of his father’s room. Minutes later, when they had lifted the frail old man into the wheelchair and wheeled him out into the sunshine-lit parlor, the look in his father’s eyes was all the reward any son could have asked.

      Later that evening, Gil told his father the whole story about Henderson’s death, including the parts he couldn’t tell Faith. His father listened attentively, and Gil found it helpful to speak his thoughts aloud, even though his father couldn’t advise him.

      “Mrs. Henderson and her son need our prayers as well as any help we can give them, Papa,” he said. “But of course you knew that as soon as I told you what had happened.”

      His father nodded.

      Gil sighed. “Papa, I can’t help thinking how sad it must be to live one’s life, and have the person who should be closest to you only feel relief that you’re gone,” he murmured. “I’d like to think someone would miss me when I die.”

      His father nodded again, and jerked a shaky finger at the daguerreotype portrait of him and his wife which sat on the top of a bookcase.

      “I know you miss Mama,” Gil said. “I miss her, too.”

      His father then pointed at the thin gold band he wore, the ring that had once been his wife’s, but now fit his thin, gnarled finger. Then he pointed directly at Gil. He mumbled something unintelligible, then looked exasperated at himself.

      Was he asking Gil what Gil thought he was asking? “Are you saying I need a wife, Papa?”

      The old man nodded emphatically and repeatedly, then turned his left palm upward while shrugging the same shoulder, as if he was asking what Gil thought.

      Gil was pleased that he had judged correctly, and that his father had guessed СКАЧАТЬ