The Preacher's Wife

He led the animal into the enclosure and headed toward the house. Josie turned her attention to their list until the pleasing scents of sun-dried clothing and bay rum reached her. Abigail shot across the room to hug him. The holster and revolver still hung at his hip.

He met her gaze, so she asked, “Have you eaten?”

“Haven’t had time to think about food, truthfully.”

“I’ll make you something you can take along.”

“That’s kind of you. Who’s coming with me?”

“Elisabeth,” Abigail answered. “I’m going to help Mrs. Randolph make bread pudding. We have a recipe for lemon sauce.”

“That’s fine.” Samuel nodded. “And you’ll work on your studies. Run and fetch Elisabeth for me, please. Where’s Anna?”

“She found Reverend Martin’s cat,” Abigail answered on her way toward the hall. “Right now she’s watching it sun itself.”

One corner of his mouth inched up, and Josie found herself intrigued by the possibility of a smile on his clean-shaven face.

He looked back and found her gaze on him. “Would you prefer I take Anna along, since Elisabeth won’t be here to look after her?”

“Anna’s no trouble,” she replied. “If she wants to stay, I’ll keep an eye on her.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Randolph.”

“Would you mind calling me Josie? When I hear you say Mrs. Randolph I look for my mother-in-law—a fine woman of God,” she clarified quickly.

He raised his chin in half a nod.

She sliced bread and made a sandwich that she wrapped and handed to him. “There’s a basket of apples just inside the pantry if you’d like to take a couple. You and Elisabeth might get hungry before you return.”

He accepted the sandwich and met her gaze. His eyes were the color of glistening sap on a maple tree. The degree of sadness and disillusionment she read in their depths never failed to touch her. She wished she could do something that would remove that look.

“Your kindness is what my daughters need right now, Josie.” They were alone in the kitchen, yet he spoke softly as though he didn’t want to be overheard. “They’ve been through a lot.” He paused and his throat worked.

His loss was so recent, his pain so fresh. He’d obviously loved his wife very much. Josie didn’t presume to know how the man felt, and she knew words wouldn’t help right now. She understood and respected his grief.

She found her voice. “They’re lovely children, Reverend.”

“Every time I look at them, I see how fragile they are. How young and…” Samuel glanced away. “And vulnerable. They’re hurting.” He drew his gaze back to hers. “Elisabeth is handling it her own way, and I know she’s difficult. But…well, thank you for understanding.”

“I don’t believe in coincidence.”

Samuel’s eyes showed a spark of interest. “What do you mean?”

Chapter Four

“You’re here for a reason,” Josie answered. “I’m open to whatever God has planned.”

He didn’t say anything, but he swallowed hard and nodded.

Elisabeth entered the room, followed by Abigail. Elisabeth paused and glanced from her father to Josie. “I’m going with you.” She raised her hem, revealing a pair of trousers under her skirt.

“I figured as much, so I saddled the other horse. Let’s grab a couple of apples and head out.”

Josie and Abigail followed them onto the back steps and watched as father and daughter mounted their horses.

Abigail waved until they were out of sight. Josie was beginning to wonder if the girl was sorry she hadn’t gone along, until Abigail turned wide, eager eyes to her. “Can we start now?”

Josie agreed with a smile and they went back in. Buttering a baking dish, she asked, “Do you like to ride?”

She shook her head. “Not so much. Do you?” Abigail studied all the ingredients on the table. “What should I do?”

“Tear this bread into little pieces and drop them in the pan,” Josie said before answering her other question. “I think I’d like to. I haven’t been on a horse since I was small, and my uncle took me.”

Abigail picked up the bread. “We only took carriages in Philadelphia. I never rode, till Papa told us we were moving to Colorado. He said we needed to learn, and he taught us.”

Josie cracked eggs into a bowl and whipped them with a fork. “I’ve never been to a city as big as Philadelphia. I’ve lived here most of my life. What were your favorite things to do back home?”

“I liked school.” Abigail layered the bottom of the pan with bits of torn bread. “And parades. And when school was out we took tea in the afternoon, so we still got to see our friends when their mothers brought them or we went to their houses. May I put in the cinnamon?”

“Two teaspoonfuls. That sounds like fun.” Josie enjoyed how she and Abigail often held two conversations at once.

“Oh, it was. My Mama has a china tea set with violets painted on the pot and the cups.” She paused on the last chunk of bread. “I wonder where it is.”

“Your father put your things in storage. I’m sure he was careful to store the tea set where it would be safe.”

Abigail dropped in the last piece of bread, measured the cinnamon and then brushed her hands together with a flourish. “Now what?”

“Now we whip the egg mixture, pour it over the top and bake it.”

“Was this in the recipe book, too?”

“Actually, no. I just remember how, from seeing my mother do it.”

“Maybe we better write it down so I can remember when we get to Colorado. I might wanna make it for my papa.”

Josie studied Abigail’s serious blue eyes. The afternoon sun streaming through the window caught her pale hair and made it glisten. The girl’s foresight touched her. She’d lost her mother, and she needed to cling to familiar things. She needed to feel safe. “That’s a very good idea. In fact, I’ll make you a little book of all the recipes we use together.”

Her expressive face brightened. “You will?”

Josie nodded. Just then, Anna called them to come observe the cat batting at a fly on the windowsill. The child was fascinated by the feline’s swift movements, and then grimaced when it caught the insect and ate it. Josie hid her amusement. “I have an idea.”

“What is it?” Anna asked.

“I have a tea set. Why don’t you and Abigail come home with me for an hour or so, and we’ll have tea.”

Anna scrambled to her feet. “Do you got any lemon cakes or raisin scones?”

“I don’t, but I have some sugar cookies. Those will do, won’t they?”