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CHAPTER SIX

H ugh finished reading his sermon notes aloud, half-distracted by the plans circling in his head.

He supposed he should have something more to suggest than a celebration.

What form would it take? Shuffling his papers together, he saw that Evan had fallen asleep on the mat Annie had provided.

That didn’t say much for Hugh’s delivery, even if the boy was only four.

He pulled the warm blanket over the boy and took the papers to his office.

He didn’t immediately return to the kitchen.

Instead, he went to the window overlooking the street and scratched a hole in the frost to peer down the road.

From the manse, it was impossible to see the store.

He saw the church next door and the bare-limbed trees in the town square formed by the intersecting two main streets in town.

He saw the hotel and the corner of Miss Daisy’s Eatery but not beyond that to the mercantile, where he guessed Annie had gone for her errands.

A wagon rolled by. The occupants were so bundled up he didn’t recognize them except to know it was a man and a woman.

A cowboy rode down the street, a scarf pulled around the man’s face and a fur coat protecting him from the weather.

It was cold out. Hugh knew that without leaving the house.

He shouldn’t have let Annie go. He gave a little shrug.

It wasn’t as if he could have stopped her.

He hadn’t been in the area long before he understood that Annie Marshall, like the male members of her family, did not allow herself to be unduly influenced by the wishes of another.

It was one of the reasons he told himself she was unsuitable.

Didn’t a preacher’s wife have to be prepared and willing to accommodate the opinions of others rather than do things that would bring criticism down on them?

The argument seemed weak, and he spun around, crossed the floor to the window by the back door, and peered out. She’d left the woodshed door open slightly for the dog. He had to admit he liked a woman who was tenderhearted.

How long did it take to go to the store and return?

Or had she found other amusement?

Grandfather had said to trust her, but trust did not come easily for Hugh.

The old man wakened and watched. “She hasn’t been gone that long, you know.”

He turned from the window and, more to occupy himself than of a need, he made a fresh pot of coffee.

When it was ready, he offered a cup to Grandfather.

“Are you concerned about the cattle and horses in this cold?” he asked, hoping to get the old man thinking in a different direction than Hugh’s worry about Annie.

Grandfather sipped the hot liquid before he answered. “There’s plenty of Marshalls out there to take care of things. I don’t mind sitting back and putting my feet up for a change.”

Hugh studied the older man, remembering Annie’s concern. Did he look pale? Hard to say with his sun-leathered skin. Grandfather shifted and grimaced. A sign of pain?

“Are you warm enough?” Hugh asked.

Grandfather waved away his concern. “I’m cozy as can be.”

The two of them sank back to stare at their cups.

“She’s a great girl, you know.”

Hugh swirled the remains of his coffee. No need to ask who Grandfather meant. Annie. “Don’t suppose you’re the slightest bit prejudiced?”

“No need to be. It’s the plain and simple truth. Why, that girl has been running the house and taking care of the family since her ma, God rest her soul, passed away when Annie was barely fifteen. I daresay there isn’t another young woman half as capable in the whole territory.”

No doubt Grandfather thought those words should relieve any concern Hugh had regarding Annie, but they only served to intensify it. Surely, she’d be eager for less responsibility after all she’d dealt with. He could not, would not, believe otherwise.

“Losing her ma was hard on her. Hard on everyone in the family. Ellen was a very special woman with lots of gumption and a heart of gold. Annie takes after her ma.” He chuckled.

“With a good deal of Marshall grit thrown in for good measure.” He sat up and leaned forward.

“Me and my sons and grandsons wouldn’t look kindly on her being treated poorly, if you know what I mean. ”

“Your message is loud and clear.” Part of him wanted to stand up and firmly inform this old man that he could live up to any expectation of the Marshalls. A stronger part reminded him of how often he’d failed in the past. He turned to his sleeping son. “I only want what’s best for him.”

Grandfather sat back. “Then you’ve chosen wisely with Annie. She knows how to get through to the boy.”

Hugh went again to the front window to watch for her return. She did seem to understand his son. Was it enough?

He saw her cross the street. She huddled inside the too-large coat, a woolen scarf about her head.

She carried a bundle as she hurried toward the manse.

He grabbed his coat and hat and dashed out the door before he had the buttons done up.

He was in front of the church before he got his gloves pulled on.

The cold had a fierce bite. Annie must be about frozen.

He reached her side and relieved her of her parcel, put an arm about her shoulders, and pulled her close to provide shelter from the cold wind as he rushed her homeward.

It was only to make sure she was safe, he told himself by way of excuse for how he held her.

Because Grandfather had warned him about her being a Marshall.

Perhaps a goodly portion of his reason was because he needed her to help with Evan.

Nothing more than that. Oh sure, she made good soup and biscuits and had a tender heart toward stray dogs.

He went straight through the front door and didn’t slow down until they reached the kitchen where he released her.

Grandfather watched them, approval in his eyes. Did he think his warning had sent Hugh out to bring Annie home? For his own peace of mind, he wished that was the reason, but the only thing he’d been concerned about was getting her inside out of the cold. For her sake. No one else’s.

She shrugged out of her coat and unwound her scarf, bits of static-filled blonde hair forming a crown about her head. She rubbed her hands over her head to smooth the flyaway strands.

“Brr. It’s cold as the North Pole out there. Guess it won’t snow while it’s so cold. Right, Grandfather?”

He shook his head and looked mournful. “That’s an old wives’ tale.” He turned to Hugh. “’Taint true. I can tell you.”

Hugh rubbed his hands together, resisted an urge to put his hand to the spot where her shoulder had pressed into his chest. It meant nothing.

He felt nothing more than something similar to how he felt when taking care of Evan—protective, concerned.

He despised himself for the lies he tried to believe.

Shouldn’t a man—especially a preacher—be truthful even in his thoughts?

Behold, thou desirest truth in the inward parts.

He knew the verse from Psalm chapter fifty-one.

He could not face the truth...that there was something about Annie that had wormed its way—unwanted and unwelcomed—to the depths of his heart.

She warmed her hands at the stove and then turned to the parcel he’d placed on the table. She untied the strings and looked at Evan. “I got you two candy sticks, like I promised.” She handed Evan a red-and-white-striped candy stick and a black one. He took them from her with a shy glance.

“I got you one as well, Grandfather.” She handed him a butterscotch-colored one.

“That’s my girl.” Grandfather stuck the end of his candy stick in his mouth.

“Uncle George says hello. He wanted to come and see you. I said that was fine.” She brought her gaze to Hugh. “That’s okay, I hope?”

For a minute, he wondered if he’d swallowed his tongue, and then he found it. “Of course. You may invite anyone you like.”

Something flickered through her eyes. He wished he could tell if it was surprise or approval, but it was gone too suddenly.

Her hands paused over her purchases. “I got you something as well. I wasn’t sure if you liked candy or what flavor, but I chose this one. Green apple.” She handed it to him.

“Thank you.” As of this moment, it was his favorite.

He couldn’t tear his gaze away from her blue eyes and generous expression.

“I also saw this and thought of you.” She pulled out a small book with a dark brown cover and handed it to him. “I hope you don’t have a copy.”

He drew his gaze from hers to read the title. “The Morning Watches and Night Watches by John Ross Macduff.” He stroked the cover, his throat too tight to speak.

“Is it something you already have?”

He shook his head.

“Then I hope you’ll enjoy it.”

He had to say something and swallowed hard. “I certainly will. I’ve long wanted a copy. I have to ask. Where and how did you find this?”

She grinned, pleased with his reaction. “Someone traded it to Uncle George for supplies.”

“I’m so pleased you were able to get it from him.”

He couldn’t stop smiling, and feeling a little embarrassed by his reaction, he opened the first page. “‘Come near, and bless us when we wake, Ere through the world our way we take; Till, in the ocean of Thy love, We lose ourselves in heaven above!’” The words so stirred him that his voice deepened.

Her eyes shone. “That’s beautiful.” Her words were but a whisper.

Their gazes held, hers full of wonder, his likely full of surprise and?—

He couldn’t say what he felt. Awe, attraction and something that felt warm and homey in the depths of his being.

The sound of Evan slurping his candy drew them both to look at him, and they laughed, their gazes again coming together. Time stood still as they looked deeply into each other’s eyes. He wondered if she could see to the very most secret places of his heart, read his wants and failures.