The Preacher's Wife. Cheryl St.John
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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?”
Anna’s delighted smile was all the answer required.
The afternoon passed more quickly than any Josie could remember. After they’d had tea and cleaned up, then taken the sheets from the line and folded them, the girls got comfortable on their bed and read while Josie made up the reverend’s bed with fresh sheets and put away the towels.
She waited supper until Samuel and Elisabeth arrived. Josie ate in the kitchen with the girls, while Samuel kept Henry company, so they could talk about the calls he’d made. The bread pudding was well received, and Reverend Martin even asked for seconds. She refused offers of help to wash the dishes, and the girls went up to their room to study.
Later, she made coffee and carried a tray to the men and served them.
“Sit with us,” Reverend Martin invited. “Unless you have to be going.”
She hesitated only momentarily. Evenings were dreadfully long at her house. She jumped at the chance to avoid another one. “I’ll get a cup.”
Samuel stood until she had poured her coffee and taken a seat. “Your daughters are delightful company,” she told him. “I think even Daisy is warming to Anna.”
Henry explained how Anna and the feline had held a staring match most of the afternoon. He raised one eyebrow. “Sam said the Widow Harper seemed a trifle standoffish.”
Josie knew the woman. Mrs. Harper had been a widow for as long as Josie could remember, though others in town recalled a husband.
“And it seems she’s added a chicken to her pets since I was there last,” he told her.
“There was a sheep in a pen right beside the front door,” Sam said.
“I knew about the lamb,” Josie said. “I guess it grew up and was too big for the parlor.”
“She’s not too keen on people,” Henry understated. “Prefers her critters.”
“She didn’t care much for our visit,” Samuel told them. “Feeling was mutual, actually. Elisabeth sat on a footstool with her gaze riveted on that chicken, like it was going to fly up and peck her eyes out at any minute.”
Josie fought back a laugh by pursing her lips. Finally, she managed to say, “I would probably have done the same.”
Reverend Martin laughed then, a chuckle that started slow and built, until he held his sore ribs and grimaced.
Samuel’s cheek creased becomingly in a grin that gradually spread across his face.
Why his crooked smile was of special interest, she couldn’t have said, but the sight warmed and lifted Josie’s heart.
His laugh, once it erupted, was a deep, resonating sound that Josie felt through the floorboards. She knew instinctively that laughing was something he hadn’t done for a long time. She joined their merriment with a burst of laughter.
A shriek came from upstairs, effectively silencing their good humor. The sound came again, followed by a thump on the floor above.
Samuel shot from his chair and Josie followed close behind. He took the stairs two at a time while she gathered her hem and kept a slower pace.
The lamp on the hallway wall led them to the girls’ bedroom, and Samuel darted in. Josie found the oil lamp on the bureau and lit it.
She couldn’t identify the sobbing, but Abigail’s father went unerringly to the larger bed, where the covers were strewn onto the floor and Abigail sat with her arms over her head, white-clad elbows pointed toward the ceiling.
Elisabeth sat up from the narrow bed where she slept alone and blinked sleepily at them.
Anna was on her knees on the mattress beside Abigail, reaching out to stroke her sister’s mussed hair.
“It was Mama,” Abigail choked out, tears glistening on her cheeks. “Mama was in the water.”
Behind her, Anna burst into tears.
Samuel lifted Abigail and she wrapped her arms and legs around his waist and clung to him. He splayed one hand across her back and