The Sheriff's Sweetheart. Laurie Kingery
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front, where Dr. Nolan Walker’s office was located, came an ear-piercing wail.
“Oh, dear, Nolan must be examining the Harding boy again,” Sarah said. “He’s always sticking things in his ears or up his nose. I’m glad he’s not my child…”
“But I sense you have reservations about Sam,” Prissy persisted, not about to be distracted.
Sarah paused with her hand on the doorknob. “I don’t know if I would call them reservations, Prissy dear, so much as I would ask you to be cautious, take your time.”
“Cautious? Sarah, he’s the sheriff.”
“Yes, and two days ago you didn’t know he existed, did you? I agree, he seems very charming. But go slowly, Prissy. There’s no rush. Pray about it. Just because he wears a tin badge doesn’t mean he’s the man God has for you.”
Prissy felt unexpected frustration at Sarah’s words. Sure, she trusted God as her Savior, Prissy thought, but how was she to know His will? When she folded her hands and asked God to send her a good man, she couldn’t hear an answer.
“Sarah, we can’t all be like you, cautious and careful, taking months to decide what all of us in the Spinsters’ Club knew right away, that Nolan Walker was perfect for you. I suppose it’s understandable that you were wary, since your former fiancé turned out to be a murdering outlaw—”
Sarah’s face lost color and her eyes filled with pain. Prissy knew she’d let her tongue go too far.
“I’m sorry, Sarah,” she said, stretching a trembling hand to reach Sarah’s shoulder. “That was inexcusable. I know you loved Jesse Holt once, before he changed so completely. Please, forgive me.”
Sarah’s gaze was steady and strong. “I have already. And I suppose you’re right. I was very wary after I thought Jesse was dead in the war and that Yankee doctor showed up as my Spinsters’ Club match. But I’m glad I didn’t rush into courting with him. I’m glad that I got to know him first, and prayed about it, that we were both Christians when we married—what do you know of Sam Bishop’s faith, by the way?”
“Nothing,” Prissy admitted. “As you pointed out, we only met yesterday. But he’s coming to church tomorrow—he must be a Christian.”
Sarah said nothing, just raised an eyebrow, and finally Prissy sighed. “I know, I know, that doesn’t prove anything. I suppose that’s something I will have to discover, as we get to know each other. There’s plenty of time for that.”
Sarah regarded her steadily. “Yes, there is. I hope you will keep that in mind. Prissy, please don’t be offended, but sometimes it seems that you’re in love with love itself, rather than with discovering the right man to spend your life with.”
“’In love with love?’” Prissy echoed. “I’m hardly picking out my trousseau yet,” she said stiffly. “We have yet to go on so much as an outing together. It’s quite possible that Sam Bishop is not for me, but for someone else!”
“There, now I have offended you,” Sarah said, her face full of regret. “It was the last thing I wanted you to do, Prissy. I only want you to be careful with your heart until you’re sure, that’s all.”
“I will,” Prissy promised, knowing Sarah was right. She extended a hand and placed it on Sarah’s wrist. “I want you to be honest with me, Sarah—always. Now I’d better be going and make sure Papa’s sitting down for dinner. Sometimes he says he’s not hungry and just skips it, then he’s famished by suppertime.”
She was very lucky to have a friend like Sarah Walker, Prissy mused as she walked to her house, using the boardwalks that ran past the stores rather than trusting her shoes to the dusty streets. She just wished she were as good a Christian as Sarah was. Sarah seemed to find great comfort in her prayers, and to be certain about the answers she sought with them, whereas Prissy’s sometimes seemed to go no farther than the ceiling.
Envying Sarah’s faith was better than envying her friend’s success in marriage, Prissy supposed. But it was only natural to be a little wistful when three of the Spinsters had now found mates—Milly with Nick, Sarah with Nolan, and now Emily Thompson was to marry Ed Markison in a few weeks—while the contents of Prissy’s hope chest remained unused. Perhaps she’d unconsciously assumed she’d be the first to wed. As the only child of a rich father, she’d usually gotten whatever she wanted it, as soon as she wanted it, whether it was a pony or a new hair ribbon.
Envy was the same as coveting, wasn’t it? So she’d broken one of the Commandments, Prissy thought with a guilty sigh. She’d have to be sure to say her prayers tonight, and ask for forgiveness for that. Help me to take Sarah’s advice, Lord, and not be in love with love. Give me wisdom about Sam Bishop. Help me to see if he is for me—or if You have someone else in mind for both of us.
She wanted to be in the center of the Lord’s will, but couldn’t help but wish the outcome would be the former.
Chapter Five
“Ah, Prissy, there you are,” her father boomed as she made her way up the Gilmore House steps. “I was afraid I was going to have to leave a message with Flora.”
“What do you mean, Papa? I was just coming home to have dinner with you.” And then she saw the lady standing behind her father, a lady who looked to be about his age, in a stylish dress of lavender silk with black piping, smiling at her. “Oh! I didn’t know you had company.”
“I didn’t know she was coming, either, until she appeared on our doorstep,” her father said, his voice more jovial than she’d heard it in months. “Prissy, meet Mariah Fairchild. I grew up with her back in Victoria. We were in the same grade together at school—I used to dip her braids in the inkwell.” He chuckled in remembrance. “That was long before I met your dear mama, of course. Her husband Hap was in our class, too.”
“I’m so sorry to hear of your mother’s passing,” Mariah Fairchild said, coming forward. She was a statuesque woman with a wealth of silver hair done up on top of her head. “I saw her portrait in the parlor, dear child, and I see you are very like her—especially about the eyes. It’s so nice to meet you, Priscilla. And what a sweet little dog,” she added, glancing at Houston, who wagged his tail obligingly at her.
“You too, Mrs. Fairchild,” Prissy said, wondering for whom the lady wore half-mourning.
“Yes,” the lady went on. “I lost my Hap a year ago, and when I heard recently about your father’s loss this winter, I just had to come pay a condolence call.”
“Oh. Do you…live very far from here?” Prissy asked, hoping Mariah Fairchild would furnish her with a clue as to why she was here.
“I live in Austin, dear, but I…I’m thinking of relocating, now that Hap has passed on. There are too many memories in that old house I rattle around in,” she said with a gusty sigh.
“I…I see,” Prissy said politely.
“Your father and Hap kept up a correspondence, you know,” Mariah Fairchild went on.
No, I didn’t, Prissy wanted to say. As far as she could remember, her father had never mentioned Hap Fairchild—or his wife.
“And your father was always singing the praises of Simpson Creek. Why, we were so proud to hear that he was elected mayor, Hap and I.” Mariah Fairchild sighed again and delicately wiped a tear from the corner of her eye with a lacy handkerchief. The scent of rosewater wafted toward Prissy. “I just had to come and see for myself if it was as good as he said it was, if this might be the town I would like to live in for the rest of my life.” She smiled tearfully up at Prissy’s father.
Prissy bristled. Papa had lost his wife only six months ago, and already this widow was swooping down on him, hoping for a new husband who was probably wealthier than her last one! She took a deep breath, trying hard to keep her voice civil as she said, “Oh, but if you’re used to a big city like Austin,