Courting Emma (Little Hickman Creek Series #3) (21 page)

"It was Reverend Miller who set up the invitation," Jon
added, as if he'd read her mind. "Seems he's known this family
for some time, used to pastor their church when he was out
riding the circuit. He wants them to feel at home here in Hickman, so he figured my going out to their place for a meal and
inviting them to Sunday services was a good start."

She nodded, remembering the upcoming community
picnic day after tomorrow.

"How about you? Are you coming this Sunday?"

She'd been trying to decide that very thing when Lucy Fontaine had knocked on her door two days ago and asked her to
donate a casserole for the potluck. She gave a slow nod. "I've been
asked to bring a dish to pass, so I might better go to church."

One brow quirked with humor. "You make it sound like
a death sentence. It won't be that bad, Emnia, I promise." His
soft tone unnerved her.

"I'll keep that in mind." What would he think if lie knew
she'd been reading from Clara Abbott's Bible every night before
turning down her lamp-had even pondered the meaning of
the verse "If ye shall ask anything in my name, I will do it"?

Jon glanced down and saw the extra place setting. "You
expecting someone else for dinner?"

She noted a badly folded napkin and decided to redo it.
"That character, Billy Wonder, will be takin' his evenin' meals
with us," she said. "Soon as lie arrives in any town I guess
he goes in search of a restaurant. Since I'm the closest thing
to one, 'cept for the bakery, he asked if he could join us. I
obliged." She replaced the refolded napkin.

He frowned. "You don't say. Well, I'd watch my step with
that one."

She'd been about to ask him what he meant when the
knocker on the front door sounded and Luke ushered their
guest into the dining room.

"Madame," Billy greeted by way of a ceremoniously gallant bow, followed by his reaching for her hand and bringing
it to his mouth for a tender kiss. The move so surprised Emma
that it took a moment to register what he'd done. But when
she felt his lingering hot breath leaving a damp spot on the
upper part of her wrist, she quickly withdrew it, wiping it as
discreetly as possible on the back of her skirt.

"Good evenin'-sir."

"Oh, please, Billy will do."

Jon chortled loudly. "She barely calls her closest friends by
their first navies, Mr. Wonder."

"Oh, but I insist," he said, winking at Emma as if they
were old acquaintances. "I'll simply not answer to anything
else." At that, he surveyed his surroundings. "What a lovely old
house. Such intricate carvings on that old grandfather clock in the foyer. Where may I ask did you come across it? And the
piano-niy, what a fine piece. I'd ask to play it later-if I had a
clue how to find middle C." He laughed at his own joke.

He continued scrutinizing the house. "Your paintings
are quite grand, too. I'm assuming you must have inherited
them-from a relative, perhaps-or maybe your own parents.
At any rate, it's a lovely home. And the food." He put his hand
to his flat belly and rubbed a circle. "Might I say your cooking nnzst be quite superb if the fine aromas coming from the
kitchen are any indication?"

"She's a good cook, all right," Elliott Newman said, entering the dining room. "Haven't heard the supper announcement yet, but I'm assuming it's pretty near ready."

"Yes, Mr. Elliott. If you'd like, you can call the others in."

"I'll do it," Luke volunteered, turning his head and bellowing at full voice, "Everyone c-c-cone to the t-table. Now!"

An exasperated look crossed Elliott's face. "I don't think
that's the sort of announcement Miss Emma was looking for,
Luke."

Emma hid her smile with a lightly fisted hand as the
boarders started trickling into the room.

Rather than apologize, Luke's eyes trailed over Billy with
sheer adoration and fondness. "Can you sh-sh-show us some
m-magic later?" he asked.

"Well, now, I bet I could find something up my sleeve, but
what say we make the food disappear first?"

"Huh?" Luke asked, not getting the intended joke.

Billy laughed and turned his attention to Emma. "Where
would you like me to sit, fair lady?"

Emma looked at the table. She could have had him take
Jon's place, since he'd be absent this evening, but since the
place setting was already directly to her right, she pointed. "You'll be sitting right next to nee, Billy," she replied, the first
name unwittingly slipping out.

A great puff of air blew past Jon's nostrils, as if he'd just
received the news that someone had stolen all his sermon notes.
When she glanced at him, she found his expression pinched.
Wasn't there something in the Good Book that warned against
men of the cloth showing their wrath?

"Well, now, I consider that a place of honor," Billy cooed.
"May I assist you?" At breakneck speed, he slid behind her and
pulled out her chair.

Emma laughed. "I-thank you for that, but I'm not quite
finished in the kitchen. Go ahead and take your seats-everyone.

Charley Connors was the first to sit, and the rest of them
followed suit, no worries with any of them as to the proper
protocol. Billy, however, remained behind her chair. "I'll wait
for the lady to sit," he announced to the others.

Charley shrugged. "Suit yourself."

Flustered, Enema escaped to the kitchen, not surprised
when Jon followed. "Doc was right; the guy's a shyster, a greasecoated snake," he spit in a whisper.

"Shh. I think he's charming."

"And I thought you weren't easily charmed."

He had her there. "And I thought you had a dinner
(late."

"It's not a dinner date-as such."

"Well, no matter. You don't want to be late," she scolded,
taking up the mashed potatoes in one hand and the gravy in
the other. "That pretty young lady is probably even now sitting
on pins and needles." Without meaning to, she let her cynical
tone slip out.

He leaned into her. "Are you jealous?"

She glared at him. "What? That's the silliest thing I've
heard since-since-those horseless carriage contraptions!

The comparison earned her a frosty glimmer. He gave the
kitchen clock a frenzied look and blocked her passage. "You
called him Billy."

She rolled her eyes. "That's his name."

"And Jon is mine," he rasped.

The desire to laugh nearly overtook her. "Well, ain't that a
mercy. You're sounding more like a spoiled child than a minister of the Word."

"I am not!" lie hissed, his breath tickling the hairs around
her temple.

She stared at him for a full ten seconds, forcing her lips
to stop their trembling. Oh, if only she could smile, but with
mere inches separating their stubborn faces, she dodged the
impulse. What was this sudden battle of wills?

"I'ni merely suggesting it wouldn't kill you to call nie Jon
once in a while."

Something melted at her core, and she felt herself caving.
"Okay, Jon," she said. "Will you kindly step aside?"

Now his mouth curved upward, and the melting escalated.
"Was that so hard?" he asked, moving out of her path.

She sighed. "I declare, for a preacher, you're not only a
scamp, you're touchy, to boot."

When she returned to the kitchen for the remainder of the
meal, she saw the back door slain shut.

1
y 9:55 a.m., five minutes before the start of the service,
it was standing room only. Billy Wonder looked a trifle
put out when he sauntered through the doors at 9:59 only to
be ushered to a spot next to a back window along with several
other latecomers.

Jon sat on the platform at the front of the schoolhouse
while Bess Barrington played "Praise Him, Praise Him" on
the school's donated upright as a prelude to worship, the buttons on his jacket nearly bursting with the joy of it all. Carl
Hardy sat beside him looking equally gleeful, new hymnbook
in hand. Some unidentified contributor had left several cartons of brand-new hymnals on the schoolhouse steps-and in
the middle of the night, no less. All, the joys of humble, selfless giving, with no thought for recognition!

To add to his pleasure, there sat Emma, directly in the
middle of the congregation, fifth row back, crammed in
between young Lily Broughton and the rotund spinster, Esther
Martin. It was a big step for her, coming to church, and he
longed to tell her he was proud of her for doing it.

Thankfully, the schoolhouse fire had not touched the
church benches, as they'd been stored in a shed at the back
of the property. Every Saturday night like clockwork Harvey
Coleson, Gerald Crunkle, Clyde Winthrop, and Tini Warner
had shown up to push the school desks to the back of the
room and haul in the benches. Of course, once the new
church was in place, the new pews would remain stationary.

Jon had made a point to tell one of the ushers, Irwin Waggoner, to seat Clyde and Iris Winthrop in the front row. Iris
would think of it as a position of honor, which was, of course,
his purpose in putting them there. Not that he was into applepolishing, but a little couldn't hurt where Mrs. Winthrop was
concerned.

Irv and Flossie Martin, faithful attendees, had visited
literally every congregant's home to take up an offering on
Clyde and Iris's behalf. Quite surprisingly, folks had come
through in their spirit of giving, their contribution amounting to enough to buy the couple a fine dinner at the recently
built Hotel Nicholas in Nicholasville and to hire a driver to
get them there in his new folding-top, four-seated surrey.
Jon doubted Clyde would consider such a gift the height of
enjoyment, but Iris would nearly swoon at the thought, and
that was what counted. He planned to present it to them
along with a well-written letter of thanks composed by Liza
Broughton and signed by the church council. Besides that,
he would hand over a bouquet of roses straight from Flora
Jarvis's garden that even now wafted a fine aroma from its
hiding place behind the piano. All this would occur at the
conclusion of the service.

Jon perused the rest of Little Hickman Community
Church's eager assemblage. The Crunkles and Martins sat in
the third row, and next to them was the entire Clayton family.
Hannah, the oldest of the Claytons, had prepared a generous meal of thick chicken noodle soup, cornbread, and orange
marmalade cake on Thursday night. Fancy Jenkins had been
right when she'd said Hannah was a pretty little thing, but in
Jon's estimation, she didn't hold a candle to Emma Browning. He gave himself another mental scolding. It was a fine fix
he was in, finding himself attracted to a woman who had no interest in spiritual natters. But she was here, sitting in the
fifth row, and shouldn't that count for something?

Behind the Claytons were the Haywards and the Jacobs,
and then there were the Fontaines, Toni Averly, and Clarence
and Mary Sterling. Even the Swains had shown up with their
entire clan, including little Ernialine, who still sported a cast
on an arm and a leg. Somehow, Fred had figured a way to
carry her in and plop her into his lap in the front row beside
the Winthrops, her broken leg sprouting forth like a young
tree branch.

The service went well. The singing was heartfelt, Bess's
piano playing masterful, the vocal solo by Anna Johnson not
exactly polished, but at least above average, and his sermon,
well, he supposed satisfactory, considering he'd taken less time
than usual in his preparation for it. In the beginning, he'd
intended to base his message on praise and thanksgiving, but
mere days ago, the Spirit told him otherwise. And so his message centered on prayer.

"Unlike Billy Wonder, God's no magician," he'd stated
during the course of his message, the remark gaining him a
few snickers. Billy himself had looked tickled to have his name
mentioned. "Does God still perform miracles? Of course. Does
He always answer prayer? Yes! Are His answers consistent with
our needs? Absolutely. But are the answers He provides always
the ones we're looking for?" He'd paused for effect. "Not necessarily.