Courting Emma (Little Hickman Creek Series #3) (28 page)

"Nope, don't see a thing," someone said. Ben Broughton?
"We best move on. Time's a wasting."

"Here," Jon screeched again, louder this time, determined
to make his unused voice heard.

"You hear somethin'?" someone said. Rocky? A horse
whinnied and stomped.

Oh, blessed Lord! I once was lost, but now am found, was blind,
but now I see! "In-here," he repeated, the very notion that
they were out there giving him strength.

"What in the...?" He heard the clatter of men dismounting, boots hitting the earth, and the approach of thumping
feet. "Thanks be to God! You in there, Jon? You all right?
Sound the gun, Will!" Rocky demanded.

Before Jon formed his next words, a round of gunfire
blasted through the air, echoing off the hills and beyond.

"Reverend, how are you?" This from Will Murdock. "You
hurt anywhere?"

"I'm-fine. One question though."

"What's that, Jon?" they all asked in unison. Jon pictured them hunkered down on the other side of the tree, hanging
on to his every word.

"What-took-you so long?"

"They found him! Preacher's been found. He's alive!"

Emilia heard the dish hit the floor and shatter into a thousand pieces before her brain transmitted the message that
she'd dropped it. Picking up her skirts, she stepped over the
broken mess and ran to look outside to see who was shouting.
Next came the banging on her front door.

"Miss Browning, Miss Browning!" Peeking through the
screen door was Gus Humphrey, the stock boy who worked at
Eldred Johansson's Mercantile.

"Why, Gus, what can I do for you?"

"Doc sent me. He says he'll be needin' your guest room for
the preacher. He don't want 'im goin' up and down them stairs
to his roonijus' yet. Doc says his office bed's bein' occupied by
that old feller, Clarence Hazelton."

"Of course, of course, that's fine. Come in, Gus. Tell me
what you know about the preacher." Like an anxious schoolchild eager to hear the news of whether she'd won first prize
for the sack race, she bit her lip and held her breath.

She pushed open the door, but the boy remained firmly
planted. "Cain't. I pots to ride back out to deliver some tools
to the men. The preacher's been stuck in a cave about a half a
mile off Sugar Creek Road. A humongous tree fell flat across
the front of the cave. Men is sawing their way through it now
to make way for 'im to escape."

"A cave? Is he-all right?"

"Doc says he's bad hurt on the head, pots a high fever too. Called it de-de-dration 'er soniethin'. That an' heatstroke and
I don't know what all."

"Dehydration? Heatstroke?" she mumbled. "He'll be needing lots of fluids."

"After I drop off then tools Mr. Johansson rounded up, I
gotta ride out to of Reverend Miller's place."

"Reverend Miller?"

"Mrs. Winthrop says someone's got to preach the sermon
Sunday, and it won't be Reverend Atkins."

"Oh."

Strange, it wouldn't have occurred to her to worry about
such formalities at a time like this, but leave it to the school
board president and self-appointed general governing body
of all of Little Hickman Creek to keep things running
smoothly.

She watched the lad take off running across the street.
Here and there, folks gathered in clusters, talking excitedly.
Lucy Fontaine lifted a hand from one such cluster and waved
at Enna, a baby on her hip.

"Oh, Miss Emma, ain't it grand news?" she hollered loud
enough to shatter the new front windowpane at Borden's
Bakery, the one on which they'd just painted the words

FRESH DONUTS AND A CUP OF COFFEE = JUST 10( FOR BOTH
HURRY ON OVER BEFORE THE DONUTS DRY OUT!

Every word held a different color of the rainbow, forcing
passersby to stop by for a gander at the fancy letter work. And
if one did that, why, the fine aroma of delectable baked goods
wooed the "victim" the rest of way inside.

"Enna, you hear ne? They found the preacher. Ain't it
grand?" Lucy called again.

"I just heard the news," she returned, stepping out on her
porch. "It is indeed a great relief."

"An answer to prayer is what it is," Lucy exclaimed. "There's
some of its been prayin' 'round the clock. Praises be to Jesus!"

Well, then, there was her answer. "Yes, praises!" she
exclaimed, unsure of the proper protocol for praising the Lord
in public when one didn't profess to be a Christian.

Overhead, the jays and robins had some sort of jubilant
chorus going between them. Emma walked back inside with a
smile on her face.

"He's safe," she whispered, closing the door and leaning
against it, aware that a tear drifted down her cheek. "Thank
You, Lord."

This talking to the Lord business was becoming a regular
habit.

Jon practiced patience while the men worked, relishing in
the canteen of water passed to him by Tom Averly through a
small opening.

"Don't drink too much or too fast, Reverend," Doc Randolph instructed. "Unless you want it all comin' back up on ya.
How's that head?"

"Shouldn't be long now, Jon," said Rocky, who seemed to
be at one of the hacksaws now. One by one, they each took
turns penetrating the mile-wide tree trunk, demanding every
ounce of human strength. Grady Swanson had lent his best
tools for grinding through the massive trunk, but even so, it
took time and energy.

"When you got a weakling like Rocky Callahan at the saw,
it slows down progress," said Ben. A band of laughter and lighthearted jeering followed the remark as the chiseling and
sawing went on.

When there was a lull in the laughter and work, Toni Averly
bent close to the opening. "Your horse is as good as new, Jon.
Walked right up to his stall and helped hisself to some dried-up
seed. Took nie a day to even realize he was in there. Sustained
a couple of scratches, but for the most part he come through
the ordeal jus' fine. Looked 'im over good, I did."

"Thanks, Toni."

"You best rest now, Jon. We'll have you out of here in no
time," Doc was saying. "How's that head of yours?" It was the
second time he'd asked, but so far, Jon hadn't gotten a word
in edgewise.

"It's aching, but I'll be-fine-once I'ni out of here."

"How's the vision? Have things been blurry?"

"Yeah, some. Right now all I want to do is-go home."

Hone. He realized by hone he meant Emma's Boardinghouse-and Emilia.

Doc used the word concussion in conversation before Jon
drifted back to sleep.

mnia marched down the sidewalk, Billy's possessions in
- hand: a pillow and blanket, a change of clothing, a pair
of socks, a vest, and a small, decorative box containing several items, such as cuff links, tiepins, and a gold chain. She
passed by the bank, crossed the alley, and nearly collided with
Mr. Wonder himself as he was leaving Bordon's Bakery, licking
sticky fingers. Something custardy still lingered on his chin.

He removed his hat and bowed in his usual polite manner.
"Afternoon, miss." Then, glancing at the items she carried, lie
raised his pencil-thin, dark brows. "You come bearing treasures?"

She extended her arras. "Actually, your treasures, I'm
afraid. I'll be needin' the front room you've been using. I hope
you don't mind that I went in and got your things. I'm sure
you've heard by now they've found the preacher."

He nodded and took his belongings, though not with any
degree of enthusiasm. "Yes, so I've heard. Wonderful news,
simply wonderful."

"Doc doesn't want the reverend walking up and down the
stairs just yet," she explained. "He suggested the front room
would be appropriate."

One eyebrow quirked. "So you're kicking me out of my
room?"

She wanted to ask when the room had become his but held
her tongue.

"You're welcome to keep havin' your meals with us, of course,
but I'm afraid you'll have to resume sleepin' in your wagon."

He tossed a rueful gaze at his colorful rig, still parked in
the lot where the new church would stand. The horses that went
with it had taken up residence at Sani's Livery. "My dear Miss
Emma, upon entering any fine town such as your own, I usually find folk quite niagnaninious and munificent. Although
I would prefer more comfortable accommodations, I suppose
my wagon will have to suffice."

At the risk of sounding moronic, she did not ask hint the
meaning of the two M words, just clasped her hands behind
her back and gave a weak smile, breathing in the fine scents of
fresh bread coining from the bakery.

Seconds lapsed before he finally took up the slack. "Word
has it the reverend was lost in some cave?"

"Not lost just-hidin' out there is what I hear-until the
storm passed. But then lightning-"

He flicked an inpatient wrist at her. "Yes, yes, I've heard
the story at least a dozen tines and probably in as many versions. A fallen tree blocked his passage, leaving him at death's
door." He looped a thumb through a buttonhole in his pricey,
double-breasted jacket and sniffed the air. "Wouldn't have been
a problem at all if he'd just ridden that storm out. Course,
that's just my opinion."

"Anyone with an ounce of brain matter knows you don't
fool with a lightning storm." An odd need to protect Jon Atkins'
character, if not his person, came rushing to the surface.

As if he sensed it, he gave her arm a brief, gentle squeeze.
"Now, now, Emma, I meant no offense, but, my clear, think
about it." He leaned in to her, the dab of custard still sitting
on his chin like a big pimple. "If he'd continued to the next
house, the-hni, the Jarvis hone, I believe, which, incidentally, was only one mile up the road, he could have stayed with
them and come home the next clay, thereby avoiding all this unnecessary hoopla. Instead, he stops to rest in a cave?" He
shook his head to indicate his own disbelief. "Why, look at all
the hours of pay the generous men of Little Hickman have
sacrificed on his behalf, not to mention the worry it's caused
all the women and children."

"The town loves Jonathan Atkins, and they weren't about
to sit around on their backsides and concoct some notion that
he'd brought this on himself. Have you forgotten the severity
of that storm?"

"Don't get in a huff now. I was merely thinking aloud."
He straightened, took a step back, and surveyed her face. "My,
my! One would think you love him most of all. Is that the case,
Miss Emilia?"

So unprepared was she for his words that she stumbled. He
reached out a steadying hand. Instantly, she withdrew and did
the only thing she could think of to retrieve her composure;
she lashed out at him. "I think what's really bothering you, Mr.
Wonder, is that all this-hoopla-as you put it, has set your
business back a bit. Folks aren't much interested in buying up
your medicinal potion or watching your trickery when one of
their dear citizens conies up missing."

Now, he was the one caught off guard. Good. In the
future, perhaps you'd be better off doing your thinking aloud
in your wagon, not on Main Street."