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CHAPTER FOUR

H ugh walked four blocks down Silver Street and turned right.

He passed three houses and reached the home Mr. Barret shared with his sister, neither of whom seemed to have a cheerful bone between them.

He paused outside the door to pray for strength, wisdom, and a large dose of Christian kindness.

The elderly pair had followed Mr. Barret’s married son to Montana to look for gold, but his son had been killed in an accident several years back, and his wife, the younger Mrs. Barret, had returned east to her kinfolk.

Neither of the elderly Barrets could see any reason to leave their home in Bella Creek, although they had no family here.

According to Mr. Barret, they had no relatives anywhere.

Surely, that was enough to make the pair morose.

As he stood before the weathered door, he thought of the morning’s events.

Annie had promised her whole family would work together for Evan’s benefit.

A most generous offer and one that made him more hopeful than he’d been all week.

Don’t count on too much, he warned himself.

Annie was young and beautiful and would soon find greener pastures.

The cold knotted the muscles in his chest. Strange that frigid air had never had that effect on him before. He wouldn’t admit it had anything to do with the thought of Annie leaving and the need for him to start the process over again...with a more suitable woman.

Gathering his thoughts together, he rapped his gloved knuckles on the door.

Knowing from past experience that it would take a few minutes for Miss Barret to come, he waited.

After several minutes, when she hadn’t answered, he removed his glove and banged harder, and then bent his ear to the door to listen, concerned that she might be unable to cross from the kitchen. Perhaps she’d fallen.

He detected a shuffling sound and waited, ready to barge in if he thought it necessary.

He was about to do so when the doorknob rattled, and the frail, white-haired woman opened the door. “Come in, pastor,” she said in her reedy voice.

He hurried inside so she could close out the cold.

“Clarence was just saying that you’d forgotten your promise to visit. He’d have scolded you if you did.”

Hugh knew Clarence Barret’s scoldings took on the form of fire and condemnation, but perhaps Hugh needed to be reminded, occasionally, that he was a man with many flaws.

“I’ve been otherwise occupied this week, but I promised, and here I am.”

She led him through the unheated parlor to the kitchen where the elderly couple spent their days, though he couldn’t say what they did.

Mr. Barret looked up at Hugh’s entrance. “Couldn’t have left it much later, could you?” The old man was reed thin, white-haired—what was left of it—and wore a permanent scowl.

“There’s still one more day in the week.”

“And a whole bushel of excuses, I’ve no doubt.”

Hugh didn’t wait for an invitation to sit because he’d learned there wouldn’t be one. He chose a chair that allowed him to face the elderly man. “How are you faring in this cold weather?”

“Surviving, which is all we can hope for. What’s this I hear about you taking a young woman to live with you? What’s this world coming to that a preacher would live in sin?”

Hugh’s ear tips grew hot. He had no intention of arguing with the old man, but he wanted to defend himself. Before he could speak, Mr. Barret rushed on.

“The young Marshall gal is what I hear. The old man must be getting doddering in his old age to allow such a thing.”

Hugh understood him to mean Grandfather Marshall.

Mr. Barret rushed on with his sister tsking disapproval in the background. “And Bud and his fine sons. Have they all taken leave of their senses?” Mr. Barret leaned forward. “What have you got to say for yourself, young man?”

How had the troublesome old man become aware of this already? Then Hugh recalled that the pair paid a young lad to bring their groceries every week. Likely, they’d heard the news from him and had assumed and embellished it on their own. “Have you heard I found my son?”

“Mrs. Ross says the boy is addled in his head.” Mrs. Ross must have been the boy’s source of information, and he’d simply repeated it to the Barrets.

Hugh doubted Mrs. Ross had used those words but Mr. Barret liked to put an ugly twist to situations.

“He’s been mistreated, but I will take care of him, whatever it takes.”

“Even living in sin with an innocent gal?”

“Certainly not. She has her own quarters.”

Mr. Barret’s snort carried a whole world of doubt.

“Grandfather Marshall is staying at the parsonage as well, and he makes sure things are appropriate.” Hugh had the satisfaction of seeing Mr. Barret momentarily stalled.

“It’s still mighty suspicious looking.”

Hugh understood the old man’s concerns. All the more reason to hope someone older would answer his ad.

He knew it didn’t make sense, but someone more mature and less attractive than Annie would invite less speculation.

For Annie’s sake, he should tell her to go home.

But then, who would look after Evan? He had no choice but to accept her help for the time being.

Lord, protect her from gossip and send a more suitable woman.

He turned his thoughts back to the room he sat in. “You asked me to call. Was there a special reason?”

“Just figured you should be doing your job as the preacher and paying us poor old folk a visit more regularly.”

Of all the people Hugh served, this man made him feel the most inadequate. He supposed God had put the old fellow in his life to remind him of his failings and shortcomings.

He shared a Bible verse with Mr. Barret and prayed for his well-being before he took his departure. Back on the street, he turned immediately toward home, anxious to know how Annie had managed without him.

Not that he had any real doubts about her abilities. At least until she was distracted by something beyond the four walls of his house. No, his concern was more because of not knowing how Evan would react to any given situation.

He slipped into the house through the office door, hung his coat on the nearby hook, and hurried across the room. He ground to a halt at the sound of laughter. The deeper chuckle must be Grandfather, the lighthearted merry sound that drew longing and happiness from his heart would be Annie.

How long since he’d heard laughter in his home?

Had he ever heard it? Not in this house where, until a few days ago, he’d lived alone in somber silence.

Perhaps before his brother Kenny died, he’d heard it in his childhood home.

Certainly not after that unfortunate day.

There had been smiles and chuckles at the Caldwell house, but not this kind of overflowing amusement.

He remained at the door, purposely eavesdropping on the moment. What were they laughing about?

“My turn,” Annie said, and silence followed her words.

Hugh tiptoed into the next room, drawn by something stronger than he could explain. A need, a desire to witness what made her laugh.

She leaned over the table, the picture of concentration as she studied a pile of thin straw-like sticks stacked in the middle of the surface. They were playing pick-up sticks. Angled away from where Hugh stood, she didn’t notice him watching. Grandfather sat with his back to him.

“You know I’m better at this game than you are,” the old man said. “Always have been.” He turned to his right. “She thinks because I’m an old man, she can beat me.” He chuckled. “You watch me prove her wrong.”

Hugh realized Grandfather talked to Evan. The boy pressed his back into the corner but had shifted about so he could watch the game.

Hugh’s heart warmed to see his son responding even this much. Up until now, he’d avoided looking at anyone. Not wanting to spoil the moment, Hugh remained motionless.

Evan’s attention shifted to Annie, whose hand hovered over the sticks. With poised finger and thumb, she gingerly touched a stick, and the whole pile shifted.

“Well, phooey.” She leaned back, her arms crossed in disgust.

Grandfather chuckled. “Tried to warn you.” He rubbed his hands in glee. “Now, my turn. What do you think, Evan? Can I get a stick? Which one would you choose?”

Hugh held his breath, waiting, praying for some indication the boy understood and wished to participate. But Evan turned his head away, and Hugh swallowed hard as disappointment and discouragement clawed at his insides.

Grandfather studied the pile, chose a stick, and slowly lifted it off the stack. He crowed with victory when none of the sticks moved. “Beat that, young missy.”

She ticked her finger on the old man’s elbow. “Don’t be a gloating winner. Isn’t that what you and Pa and Mama always told us?”

Evan was again watching them, and Hugh thought he saw a flicker of amusement in the boy’s eyes. Then he noticed Hugh in the shadows and jerked away so quickly that Annie turned to see what had startled the boy.

“You’re back.” She pushed to her feet. “How was your visit? Do you want tea or coffee, or did they serve you some?” She glanced back to the table, pink rushing up her neck and stalling at her chin. “We were playing a game. Supper is in the oven. It will be ready on time.”

She thought he would disapprove of how she spent her afternoon? She couldn’t be more wrong. “Annie, you’re free to do what you like. I’m not judging you.”

Her eyes darkened. “Ah, but you are.” Before he could argue otherwise, she turned to fill the kettle and set it on the hottest part of the stove. “Tea or coffee?”

“Thank you. I’ll have whatever you and your grandfather want.”

“I feel like coffee,” Grandfather said. “I take it the Barrets didn’t offer you anything?” He must have meant the question to be rhetorical because he didn’t wait for Hugh to answer. “How are they?”