The Parson's Christmas Gift. Kerri Mountain
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“It doesn’t matter now, does it?”
He set his cup down on the little table beside him, keeping his fingers wrapped around the handle. She slid back against the armrest but tried to pull herself upright.
His eyebrows shifted and quirked. “I thought if someone was expecting you somewhere, I’d send a telegram for you.”
“No!” She jolted forward and pain shot down her leg. Tea sloshed over the blanket that covered her lap. Zane moved to pull it away before the heat could soak through. “I’m so sorry! I’m forever making a mess of things.”
“It’s all right.” He shook out the quilt and brushed at it with his handkerchief. “There,” he said, laying it back over her. “Good as new.”
“Thank you.” He looked down at her, waiting for an explanation. “It’s just that, well…there’s no one expecting me.”
His look told her he was skeptical. “You’re sure?”
She looked away from him and Miss Rose. “I’m sure.”
Placing his mug on the tray, he stood to go, and for a moment she thought he was angry. But his lips pulled into a smile, though his teeth didn’t show.
“If you think of anything—anything at all I can do to lend a hand, you let me know. Like I said, I’m sorry for the way things worked out for you.” He squeezed the old woman’s thin shoulder. “But you couldn’t be in better hands. Miss Rose is a fine woman and very good at taking care of folks.”
“I appreciate all your help, Pastor.” She shook her head. “Zane. Please don’t think I’m ungrateful. It’s just…”
“I know,” he said, in a tone that told her he somehow did. “Life has a funny way of throwing us once in a while.” He turned to Miss Rose. “Thank you for the coffee. Hot and black, just how I like it.”
It surprised Journey to see him bow and place a soft kiss on the old woman’s cheek. “Let’s pray before I go.”
Pray? Mama said she had prayed with that skinny little parson at the end of town before she died. It hadn’t changed her situation any, and Journey couldn’t imagine it would change her own. But apparently the job of pastor required it. If it meant he was leaving, she’d sit through it. He asked questions requiring answers that would only make things more complicated for everyone. It wore her out. The less they knew about her, the better they’d all be. And she never could lie well. No, she’d have to keep her distance from Pastor Zane.
“…Lord, we thank you, too, for our visitor. She’s hurting, and we ask that You heal her and help her to find a home here. Be with Miss Rose as she cares for her, and may they find comfort in each other’s company. Guide us, Lord, to live lives pleasing to You. In Jesus’ name, amen.”
Miss Rose startled Journey by echoing his amen. So now he’d leave.
Zane put his hat on and ambled toward the door. The sky was a muted evening gray. He turned as he stepped onto the porch.
“Thank you, ladies, for the visit. And, Journey, I meant what I said. You let me know if you need my help. To tell the truth, I feel responsible for the horse.”
Miss Rose nodded to her as if she expected a response.
“It’s not your fault. And I’m not your problem,” Journey said slowly. “I know it’s not something you wanted to do, and I’m glad you were there to do what I couldn’t. Gypsy was a good horse and we’ve seen a lot of trail together. I’ll miss her.” She paused to steady her voice. “But accidents happen.” She tried to spout all the expected responses, hoping she’d get to the proper one quickly so he’d go. The only help he could give would be to provide her a horse.
He tipped his hat. “Glad you see it that way, ma’am. Take care of that leg, and let Miss Rose fuss at you some, like I said. Just so she stays in practice.” He grinned and grabbed Rose’s hand with a squeeze. “I’ll check in on you,” he told her.
And then he was gone. But as much as she wished it otherwise, Journey knew it wasn’t the last she’d seen of Reverend Zane Thompson.
“Well?”
Zane turned at the bottom step to face Miss Rose, who had followed him out to the porch. “‘Well,’ what?”
“Is everything set to right between you two?”
He dropped his head to hide his smile. “I don’t suppose she’s any too fond of me, but she’s not liable to shoot me anyway. At least, I don’t think so. Why do you ask?”
Miss Rose leaned a shoulder against a post. “She’s a sweet girl. You’re a good man. Allow an old woman some hope.”
“Now, Miss Rose, don’t start. You know I’m not ready to think along those lines with anyone and definitely not with someone I know so little about.”
“Caution is good,” she agreed with a nod. “I just want to start you thinking along those lines.”
They’d had similar conversations before. “Why are you so determined to play matchmaker with me?”
“Because you’re too good a man to not allow yourself to make another woman happy. Sarah would not have expected you to live the rest of your life alone.”
“I’m not alone. I have my friends, my congregation and this town. That’s plenty to keep me busy, and it wouldn’t be fair to saddle another woman with that.”
“Let a woman make that choice for herself.”
He looked to Miss Rose, her eyes lit with the setting sun. She couldn’t understand. “It wouldn’t be fair. I’m too used to being on my own now. Besides, I’d always be comparing them to her.”
“Then I’ll be praying in that direction. Remember, you’re not replacing Sarah to open your heart to new possibilities.” She sighed and stood upright, wrapping her arms around herself in the growing chill of dusk. “Did Journey forgive you for putting down her horse?”
He tipped his hat back and shrugged his shoulders. “She claims she’s not upset about it. She knows I wouldn’t have put the horse down if I didn’t have to, I think. But I’m still the one who did it.”
“She’ll come around.”
“I hope so,” he said. The smile on Miss Rose’s face hinted at more than his words intended.
“Me, too, young man,” she said, turning back toward her door. She stopped before opening the latch. “In more ways than one.”
Chapter Eight
Journey’s heart throbbed in time with the thud of her foot on the wooden floor as she made her way to the window.
Her request to be awakened before the women left for the church had been denied. The mantel clock chimed ten o’clock, so she guessed they’d return before long. Having been confined to the great room and a cot in the kitchen for the past four days, she was elated when Abby had reminded Miss Rose about the ladies’ Bible study or some such midweek church meeting. But Miss Rose wouldn’t dawdle in town.
The sunny breeze from the open windows was no replacement for a peek of the horizon. She paused to catch her breath at the door. Sweat broke out across her forehead. Perspiration, Mama would say. Not even pigs sweat.
The day was warm, as summer flaunted itself before giving in to autumn. Journey hobbled out to the porch and sank into the chair beside the door.
She inhaled until her lungs wouldn’t stretch anymore. The scent of sage wafted in the air, and she remembered riding through it with Gypsy. It had filled the landscape as far as the eye could see, rolling along with the brown hills, climbing higher and higher. It was the first time she realized she was alone—no one following behind, no one waiting ahead. It gave her hope that she’d found her escape. But now…