Chapter Four

      “Thank you for coming by, Reverend Calvert.”

      “Not at all, Mrs. Karcher.” Matthew inclined his head in a small, polite bow. “I find making personal calls is the best way to get acquainted with my parishioners. And it is beneficial to do so as quickly as possible.” He included the Karcher daughter, who’d had the misfortune of inheriting her father’s long-jawed, hawk-nosed looks, in his goodbye smile.

      “Well, Agnes and I are honored to be your first call.” A look of smug satisfaction settled on the woman’s face, one of her plump elbows dug into her daughter’s side. “Aren’t we, Agnes?”

      “Yes, Ma.” Agnes tittered and looked up at him, her avid expression bringing an uneasy twinge to his stomach. “I’m pleased you liked my berry pie, Reverend Calvert. I’ll make an apple pie the next time you come.” Her bony elbow returned her mother’s nudge.

      The next time? The expectation in Agnes’s tone set warning bells clanging in his head. “Indeed?” A lame reply, but there was no good answer he could make to her presumption. He looked down at his hat and brushed a bit of lint from the felt brim, then stepped closer to the door. Perhaps he could get away before—

      “Agnes’s pies are the best of any young woman in Pinewood. And she’s a wonderful cook.”

      —and perhaps he couldn’t. He braced himself for what he sensed was coming.

      “Mayhap you can come for dinner Saturday night, Reverend? I’m thinking those wards of yours would be thankful for some of Agnes’s good cooking.”

      And there went his chance for an uneventful leave-taking. Mrs. Karcher’s invitation could not be ignored. He looked up, noted the eager, hopeful gleam in both women’s eyes and held back the frown that tugged at his own features. Both mother and daughter seemed to have forgotten his visit included Mr. Karcher and decided he had come because of Agnes. He cleared his throat and set himself to the task of disabusing them of that notion without hurting their feelings and damaging the pastor-and-congregant relationship. “I appreciate your kind invitation, Mrs. Karcher, but I’m afraid I must decline. My Saturdays are spent in prayer and preparation for Sunday. As for the children, I have hired Mrs. Franklin as housekeeper and cook. She feeds us well.”

      Surprise flitted across their faces. They had apparently not yet heard that piece of news. He hurried on before Mrs. Karcher recovered and extended another, amended, invitation. “Please convey my regards to Mr. Karcher. I regret that I had so little time to spend visiting with him. I shall make another call on him when he is less busy at the grist mill.”

      His slight emphasis on the word him dulled the hopeful gleam in the women’s eyes. They had understood. He dipped his head in farewell, stepped outside and blew the air from his lungs in a long, low whistle. He was accustomed to the fact that young ladies and their mothers found bachelor pastors attractive as potential husband material, but he’d never before been subjected to anything quite so…blatant.

      He ran his fingers through his hair, slapped on his hat and trotted to his carriage. Thunder grumbled in the distance. He glanced up and frowned at the sight of black clouds roiling across the sky. They were coming fast. The other visit he’d planned for this afternoon would have to wait.

      “Time to head for home, girl.” He patted his bay mare on her shoulder, climbed to the seat and picked up the reins. Lightning flashed. Thunder crashed. The mare jerked, danced in the traces. “Whoa, Clover. It’s all right. Everything’s all right.”

      The bay tossed her head and turned her ears toward his voice, calmed. “Good girl. Let’s go now.” He clicked his tongue and flicked the reins, glancing up as lightning glinted along the edge of the tumbling clouds. The black, foaming mass was almost overhead now. He would never make it back to town before the storm hit, and the children…

      His chest tightened. Joshua would be all right. But Sally— “Lord, please be with Sally. Please comfort her, Lord, until I can get home.” He reined the mare onto the Butternut Hill Road, stole another look at the sky and eased his grip on the lines to let her stretch her stride as he headed back toward the village.

      * * *

      “The…hen…is on the…b-box.”

      Willa smiled and nodded encouragement as Micah Lester shot her a questioning look. “Box is correct. Continue, please.”

      The boy lowered his gaze to the English Reader book in his hands and took a deep breath. “The rat ran…fr-from…the box.”

      She nodded as he again glanced her way. “And the last sentence, please.”

      “C-can the…hen…run?”

      “Very good, Micah. You may take your seat.” She stepped to his side and held out her hand for the book. Thunder grumbled. Her students straightened on their benches and looked up at her. She placed the book on her desk and went to the window. Black clouds were rolling across the sky out of the west. She turned back, looked at the expectant expressions on the children’s faces and laughed. “Yes, school is over for today. A storm is coming, but if you hurry, there is time for you to reach home before it arrives. Gather your things. And remember…you’re to go straight home.”

      She moved to the door, stepped out onto the small porch and held the door open against a rising wind. The children scurried past her and ran down the stairs still donning their coats and hats, calling out their goodbyes as they scattered in every direction. “Hurry home now, or you’ll be caught out in the open and get a good drenching!”

      She glanced up at the dark sky. Lightning glinted against the black storm clouds. Thunder crashed. She stared at the gray curtain falling to earth from beneath the approaching clouds and frowned. She was in for a soaking. By the time she snuffed the oil lamp, adjusted the drafts on the heating stove and gathered her things it would be impossible for her to reach home before the storm hit. Those clouds were moving fast. Should she wait it out? No. If she waited it could get worse. There was no promise of clearing behind that black wall of froth. She sighed, stepped inside and closed the door.

      “C’mon, Sally. We got to get home. Miss Wright said so!”

      Joshua. She turned and peered through the dim light in the direction of the boy’s voice. He was tugging at his sister who was huddled into a ball in the corner. “Joshua, what’s wrong with Sally?” Her skirt hems skimmed her shoe tops and swirled around her ankles as she hurried toward them.

      The boy jerked to his feet and spun around to look up at her. “I’m sorry, Miss Wright. I know we’re supposed to go home, but Sally’s scared. She won’t get up.”

      His face was pale, his voice teetered on the edge of tears. “It’s all right, Joshua.” She gave him a reassuring touch on the shoulder, then knelt down. “Sally—”

      White