Courting Emma (Little Hickman Creek Series #3) (22 page)

"God answers prayer according to His divine will and purpose for our lives. John 16:23 says, `Whatsoever ye shall ask
the Father in my name, he will give it to you.'

"Did you get that, folks? Praying in Jesus' name is the key.
However, it's not a magic formula; it is a plea that our petitions
will align themselves with Jesus' perfect desires and that we will long to pray with this mind-set.

"Thus, the aim of prayer shouldn't be that we change
God's mind about any given circumstance, but that we allow
God to change ours.

"In short, His will becomes our will, and whatever the outcome, we find peace and assurance that He loves us and has
our best interest in mind. That should be our prayer."

Among the congregation, he'd sensed a desire to know
the mind of God, as if the Lord Himself had done the talking,
a most humbling thought from Jon's perspective.

As for Emma Browning, he shouldn't have worried that
she'd consider his sermon too heavy or too judgmental, or
even too convicting. This wasn't about keeping Emma coni-
fortable, he told himself; this was about simple obedience to
the Father.

Besides, when he'd glanced at her midway through his
sermon, she'd appeared intrigued.

"Miss Browning, sit by us!" young Lill Broughton called,
her squealing voice loud enough to shatter glass. Emma
laughed with glee at the sight of her bouncing up from her
place on the picnic bench and sliding over to provide space for
her to sit.

"Yes, do," invited Liza Broughton, waving her over. The
entire family had perched themselves at one of the many
makeshift tables built from sawhorses and long pieces of plywood and covered with tablecloths of various colors and patterns. Hard benches had been fashioned to fit each table. At
first glance, the schoolyard resembled a huge patchwork quilt,
augmented by myriads of Queen Anne's lace, goldenrod, and pink curled thistle growing wild in the field. It was picture perfect. Emma approached the Broughton's table, plate of food in
one hand, tin cup of red punch in the other.

"Thank you, Lill," she said. "I was just wonderin' where I
might sit."

A light breeze picked up, creating a problem with her skirt,
but she righted the situation when she set down her plate and
cup and positioned herself next to Lill.

Two crows swooped down in hopes of finding a few scraps
of food on which to feast, but Ben shooed them off with a wave
of his hand. "How have you been, Emma?" lie asked, little
Molly on his knee stealing food from his plate, her fingers red
and sticky. "Those boarders keeping you on your toes?"

She took a sip of punch, dabbed her mouth with her
napkin, and nodded. "I thank ya for askin'. I'm busy, all right,
but I like it that way."

Liza shook her head. "My goodness, I don't know how you
do it, manage a houseful of men. I can barely keep one happy."
She leaned into her husband and giggled.

He plopped a kiss on the top of her head. "I do my best to
make life difficult."

"Do you like ar new school?" Lill asked, eager to change
the topic to something of interest. "Ain't-um-isn't it just
grand? I wonder who they'll get to teach us this fall. I hope it's
Mrs. Barrington. She wants the job is what I heard. Course she
won't be near as good as the teacher we had last year." Lill sent
her stepmother an impish grin with twinkling eyes to match,
causing the dimple in her lift cheek to spring forth.

"Oh, silly Lill," Liza jibed, laughing off the compliment
with an exaggerated flip of her wrist.

"It's true," Lill argued. "You were a fun teacher. Then
Papa went and married you, and you couldn't be our teacher anymore. Well, I mean, I'm glad he did and all, I wanted hint
to, but-oh, you know what I mean."

The adults laughed, seeing her predicament.

"Actually, it was the school fire that kept her from finishing out the year, Lil," Ben clarified. "And it's this upcoming
baby that's preventing her from going back to the job."

All eyes except Molly's seemed to make a natural trail
to Liza's rounded belly. As was typical with most pregnant
women, Liza gently rubbed the mound while a tranquil smile
appeared from nowhere.

"Anyway, Lill," Emilia quickly inserted, "to get back to
your earlier question about how I like the new school, I think
it's positively wonderful. The menfolk did a fine job." She
picked up her fork and started to dig into Iris Bergen's potato
salad, actually strategizing which delectable item on her plate
to try next Martha Atwater's mouthwatering strawberry concoction or Gladys Hayward's cheesy macaroni. Then there was
Frances Baxter's meatball recipe, Mary Sterling's apple and
raisin salad, and-

"I helped!" Lill announced, interrupting Emma's absorption with her food choices.

"Really!" Emma responded between chews. "What was
your responsibility?" She took another sip of punch.

"I held lots of boards for Papa so he could cut 'em straight.
Well, and Reverend Atkins stood behind me and helped hold,
right, Papa? Plus, I painted some of the wall. See that spot over
there under the window?"

Emma turned and strained to see the area Lill indicated
with pointed finger, but instead of finding it, her eyes fell on
the reverend himself. He was facing her, squeezed in tight right
between a little boy and a young woman with flowing black
hair! Across from him sat a middle-aged man and two more children, and the entire lot of then were laughing hysterically
over something Jon had said, their boisterous mirth carrying
across the yard. The new family Fancy Jenkins had mentioned,
Emma silently ruled. It had to be, for she'd never seen any of
them before. And from what she could tell, Fancy hadn't exaggerated when she'd clued her in about the oldest girl's fair looks.
Why, even from a distance, anyone could see she was a beauty.

"See it?" Lill was asking. "I painted that blue part around
the window; well, just the bottom half."

But Eninia barely heard the girl, so glued was she to the
new family and its dinner companion. "Yes," she muttered. "I
see it."

"Ain't it nice?" A second slipped past. "Miss Browning?"

Just then, Jon lifted his head and appeared to look straight
at her, after which she quickly swung around on the bench and
returned to her meal. Suddenly, for no distinct reason that she
could determine, Martha's strawberry concoction didn't seen
nearly so appetizing.

"Nice that new family could make it today," Ben said, nodding in the direction from which she'd turned. Had he caught
her watching them?

"Oh, I agree," Liza said. "How sad about their mania's passing. It does appear they're all holding up well, though. They'll
find acceptance here in Little Hickman, don't you think?"

"Hicknian's a friendly place, I'll grant you that," Ben
answered. "In fact, I believe Jon Atkins has been sitting close
enough to that oldest girl to make her feel more than welcome."

Was it her imagination, or had he intended that statement
for her benefit? Even now, his laughing eyes seemed to be
studying her reaction to it. Emma dug into her meal with single-minded determination, eating as though she hadn't seen
food in weeks.

"Oh, you!" Liza gave her husband a playful swat. "You
mind your own business, Benjamin Broughton. Jon's the cordial sort. I declare, if a snake crawled under his feet about
now, he'd find a way to welcome it."

Everyone laughed, and even Eninia looked up and forced
a flippant chuckle, feeble as it was.

As the afternoon waned, Emma prepared to head home.
In the end, she'd truly enjoyed herself, despite the glitch in
her emotions when she'd discovered the preacher in the company of the lovely Clayton girl. It was such a silly thing, she
brooded, caring with whom he chose to associate, as if she had
the right. Ridiculous. In fact, the town council could vote to
hang her before she'd ever admit to caring one iota what Jonathan Atkins did with his life or how he chose to live it.

Still, she did catch herself spying on him from time to
time, watching when he took his leave from the Claytons to
mingle with the crowd, noting the way he showered everyone
with affection and care, and witnessing his parishioners reciprocating his devotion. When the Claytons meandered back to
their wagon, Jon ran to catch up with them, coming between
Mr. Clayton and the pretty girl, resting his hand on Mr. Clayton's shoulder as they walked. Once at the wagon, they gathered in a little circle, and Jon bowed his head.

My, but it took a great deal of time and energy to be a
preacher, she decided.

The Broughtons took their leave after little Molly fell asleep
in her father's arms and Lill had fallen and skinned her knee
while chasing some other children around the schoolhouse.
The Callahans, with whom Emma had enjoyed chatting, left
with their two sprouts shortly after Ben and Liza. Then, one by
one, other families waved and shuffled off, dishes and youngsters in tow, horses and wagons waiting under shady trees. With a contented sigh, Emma made her way to the food table to collect her chicken casserole, the bowl scraped nearly clean.

"So you're the one responsible for that tasty chicken recipe.
I'd wondered if it night be yours when I saw the familiar dish."
Before turning, she recognized the voice of Billy Wonder. He
lifted his tall-crowned bowler hat and bowed ever so slightly.

She smiled. "You guessed right."

He was another one who'd made his rounds with the
crowds today, but for different reasons than the preacher,
she suspected. He looked dapper in his gray striped trousers,
white shirt, Windsor tie, and charcoal gray vest, a matching
frock coat hanging over one arm. By most standards, one
would even consider him quite a fine-looking man-squareset jaw, wavy, dark hair, snappy, coffee-colored eyes, a pencil
thin moustache, curled just so at the ends.

Gathering up her large round container and wooden
spoon, she politely remarked on the lovely day and the nice
community picnic, while out of the corner of one eye, she
glimpsed Jon heading in their direction.

"Might I give you a lift back to the boardinghouse?" Billy
hastened to ask. "I brought my wagon, as you can see." He'd
parked the colorful rig and horses in plain view, for advertising
purposes, no doubt, but it being Sunday and all, had refrained
from selling his commodities or performing any trickery. Now,
wouldn't that have created a stir with the proper Mrs. Winthrop had he tried to push his wares on the Lord's Day?

"Well, I actually rode out with the Crunkles," she replied
with some hesitation. "But I told then I preferred to walk
back."

His thin, dark eyebrows drew into a frown. "But I insist.
The road is much too dusty for walking, and with the afternoon sun beating down as it is, why, you'll be hotter than a chimney in December by the time you reach town. I won't take
no for an answer."

She thought about telling him she was accustomed to
walking everywhere, but he looped his arm for her to take and
waited.

"Emma," Jon broke in, still a few yards away.

In an impetuous act, she curled her arni through Mr. Wonder's then lifted her gaze to the approaching preacher. "Yes?"

"I just wanted to say hello," he said, quite out of breath,
his eyes focused briefly on the hand looped through Billy's
arm. "To both of you, of course," he added, giving Mr. Wonder
a quick glance. Strange how he didn't appear as eager to lavish
Hickman's newest stranger with the same sociability he'd
afforded everyone else that clay, in particular the Claytons and
that lovely young woman.

"Nice you could join us for services, Mr. Wonder."

"Why, thank you, Reverend. I surely did enjoy myself,"
Billy replied, shifting his weight. "Even though my legs grew
weary of standing."

Jon's expression seemed less than sympathetic. "Well, that
was unfortunate." He twisted his wide-brininied hat in his hands
before turning his gaze on Emma. "Thank you for coming."

He looked as well turned-out as Billy, but in a different
way. Whereas Billy dressed to impress, with his expensive shirt
and tie, neatly pressed pants, gold watch chain draped from
his vest pocket, hair parted and greased back to perfection, Jon
dressed to match his jaunty, happy-hearted self, his sandy hair
flying free in the breeze. Yes, he'd worn a frock coat, matching pants, and a nice white shirt with a bowtie to services, but
sometime today, he'd shed the coat and tie and rolled up his
sleeves to reveal tanned arms. She liked that about him, his
unconventional manner, the way he fit so comfortably in his own skin. Somehow, she couldn't picture Billy Wonder ever
learning the art of relaxation, so great was his need to uphold
his enchanting personality.

"No thanks needed. I cane of my own accord, and I
enjoyed your sermon," Enna responded.

"You did?" He looked downright pleased.

Strange how his sermon had come at a time when she'd
been questioning the aspect of praying in Jesus' name. Coincidental even. And what he said had struck a chord of truth
in her deepest parts, made her want to sit down one day soon
and write the mysterious Grace Giles.