The Preacher's Bride Claim. Laurie Kingery

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      “Yessir, she sure is a pretty gal,” Keith murmured, as if afraid Elijah wouldn’t see that for himself.

      Elijah wondered what Mrs. Gilbert must think of her husband noticing other ladies, but when Elijah darted a glance at her, Cassie was still smiling.

      “We thought we should point her out to ya, Reverend,” she said with a wink. “It isn’t good for a man to be alone. You ought to go meet her, after the service.”

      Elijah sighed. At least they hadn’t spoken loud enough for any of the other worshippers to hear. “The Lord calls some of us to singleness,” he said. “I am one of them.”

      Neither of the Gilberts looked convinced, but he was thankful when they didn’t press him on the point. He hadn’t told anyone in the tent city about his lost fiancée, nor did he intend to. And in any case, there was no time to converse further.

      He stepped to the makeshift pulpit someone had fashioned out of a long crate with a rectangular board nailed across the top to form a flat surface on which to lay his Bible.

      “Good morning, congregation,” he said, “and welcome, those of you who are new, to Boomer Town Chapel. I’m Elijah Thornton, and I’m glad you’re here. I hope you gain encouragement from being among believers.” He paused and looked around at the various members of his little flock, trying not to let his gaze stray to the back again. “I’d like to open our worship with a word of prayer.”

      He prayed that the Lord would bless them on this Monday. Three weeks from this day, they would race into the newly opened territory, each in hopes of claiming a homestead. He asked God to supply all their needs, physical and spiritual, to keep them free of greed and to remember to put others ahead of themselves—a tall order, he admitted, when they would soon be competing with one another for the best plots of land.

      After his “Amen” had been echoed by those sitting on the benches, he raised his head and said, “While Mr. Gilbert leads us in ‘Beneath the Cross of Jesus,’ I’m going to ask his good wife to pass the collection sack. Now, no one here is wealthy, or I imagine you wouldn’t be with us seeking free land from the United States government.”

      There was a chorus of answering chuckles from several of the flock, and even another “Amen” or two.

      “So I don’t want anyone to feel obligated to put anything in,” Elijah continued. “But if you can spare a few pennies or a couple of bits, it will enable us to carry on the work of helping the sick and the needy among us.”

      It always humbled him to see how many dropped some coin or other into the drawstring sack as it passed from hand to hand down one row and up another. Apparently lack of wealth was no barrier to generous hearts.

      Cassie Gilbert returned with the sack and sat down.

      “Those of you who have been attending daily know that I save my sermons for Sundays,” he announced. “Instead, on weekdays, we’ve been praying for each other, knowing that wherever two or more are gathered in His name, the Lord is there, listening and wanting to satisfy our needs, and that the job of the church body is to build each other up.”

      “Amen,” said the deacon.

      “Are there any prayer requests? Let’s hear them, and then we’ll take our petitions to the heavenly throne, knowing He will answer us according to His will.”

      A tall, rawboned man with the droopy face of an old hound unfolded himself from the bench, his hat in his hands. “Reverend, I’d be obliged iffen you’d pray for my wife. She’s feelin’ poorly. The trip here was mighty hard on her.”

      “We’ll do that, Asa,” Elijah promised. “I’ll come visit, too.”

      “Thank ya, Reverend. She’d like that.”

      A woman midway back stood then, her face creased with worry. “My son Billy slipped away over the line this morning. Left us a note sayin’ he was going to stake us a claim while the pickin’ was good. I’m so worried the federals are gonna catch ’im and kick ’im out for bein’ a ‘Too-Sooner,’ and penalize the whole family for what he done.”

      Like everyone, Elijah knew the law dealt seriously with the “Too-Sooners,” or just “Sooners” as they were called—those who sneaked over the line and thought to hide out on their claims till the opening shot, then hold their lands against all comers. Unlike the “Boomers,” who were those living in the tent cities, waiting obediently for noon on April 22.

      “Let’s pray that Billy comes to his senses and returns of his own accord,” Elijah agreed. There were other requests following the first two—anxieties about whether they would be equal to the task of wresting a living out of the prairie, concern over ailing livestock, squabbles among kin. He listened to each one, wondering if the pretty stranger in the back row might make a prayer request, but she did not. A glance showed her still sitting on the back bench, her face tense, her eyes watchful. What was she worried about? Please, Lord, comfort her.

      At last, when there were no more requests, he bowed his head and began to pray aloud over each one. Sometimes when he was done praying on a matter, others voiced their own prayers, expanding on his requests or merely repeating them, but today no one did. “And now,” he concluded, “we’ll just be silent for a moment, knowing that there are often needs too sensitive to say aloud, needs that You want to meet, Father...” Perhaps the female newcomer’s requirements were of that nature.

      “Father, in closing, I pray that You will keep us as one body united in purpose, with the goal of building a community united by faith. Bless these people until we meet again.”

      It was his custom to shake hands with those who had come, so while everyone was getting to their feet, he moved to the back, hoping to meet the worried-looking woman and find out what was troubling her.

      * * *

      Alice had hoped to leave the tent without meeting the preacher. His eyes—what color were they? Brown? No, something lighter; hazel, she decided—simply saw too much. They seemed to pierce through her carefully guarded exterior to her uneasy heart inside. But the garrulous sisters who’d sat next to her had started chattering to her the moment the reverend stopped praying, delaying Alice’s escape.

      She’d wanted an atmosphere of worship in which to make her appeal to God, so when she’d spotted the sign in front of the tent announcing services every day, it seemed to be a sign from Heaven. But it went against her resolve to stand and proclaim her prayer request boldly—and didn’t everyone here have the same request anyway? So while Elijah Thornton prayed aloud, Alice prayed silently. Please, Lord, let me win a good plot of land, so it won’t matter if the bank takes our farm in New York, so I won’t be forced to marry Maxwell Peterson to keep my mother from destitution...

      There was no polite way to evade shaking the preacher’s hand, she saw that now—short of ducking under the rolled-up tent flaps on the side. The stair-step boys who’d sat in front of her lost no time in doing that, despite a call to halt from their mother. But a well-bred lady would not do such a thing, so Alice resigned herself to the encounter. She would keep it short and be polite but not reveal too much about herself. A person has a right to keep her worries between herself and the Lord, doesn’t she?

      The sisters had spotted someone they knew across the tent and had dashed over to greet them, so Alice was spared a further inquisition by the talkative twosome while she stood with the lined-up worshippers filing toward the preacher. СКАЧАТЬ