The Preacher's Wife

“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?”