Courting Emma (Little Hickman Creek Series #3) (41 page)

For a change, though, it wasn't his superb looks that had
her heart thrumming out of control. In fact, she couldn't quite
pinpoint the root of the problem, unless it was the nudge in
her own side that she suspected might be coming from the
Lord Himself.

How much longer will you run from Me, My child? Don't you
tire of carrying around all that bitterness? Won't you let Me help you
take it off your shoulders? I can do that for you, you know. There is
hope and healing.

"Are you seeking something, but can't quite figure out what
it is? Are you looking for a purpose in your life, but finding little
meaning?" Jon asked. "Do you have an empty heart that needs
filling? Are you acquainted with the One who can fill it?"

All these questions, first from her head and then from
that-that fine-looking man! Emma had the strongest urge
to rise up out of this harder-than-a-brick pew-did they
make church pews hard for a reason, so folks wouldn't get too
comfortable?-and escape for a breath of fresh air. Suddenly
she felt so hemmed in, so conscience stricken.

That morning Ezra had gotten himself out of bed and
declared he was going to church, and she'd denied him that
wish. "It's impossible!" she'd declared, easing him back to bed.
Luckily, Jon had left the house at dawn or he'd have surely
found a way to get hint to services even if meant bringing him
in on a stretcher. He'd looked as pale as the moon and as
gaunt as a goat on its last legs. "I don't want to be responsible
for yer fallin' or soniethin'," she'd told him, hands on her hips.
Besides, what in the world iL of ld folks think?-the words sat on
her tongue as well. It would cause a stir, all right, his coming
through the big, wide doors. Why, she could almost picture Iris
Winthrop's pinched expression now as she craned her neck to
watch the proceedings. As far as she knew, he'd never graced
the inside of a church, and starting now, when lie was so weak
and frail, seemed a silly venture.

He'd looked at her from his spot on the edge of the bed, his
deep-socketed eyes clouded with inquiry, his warbled breaths
clamoring to get out. "Why you been goin'?"

He might have thrown her across the room the way the
question hammered through her heart. Yes, why? She'd never
gone to church in her life, either, but from the day Grace's letters started coming, an undetermined longing for something
more had come to roost in her soul. She'd thought that going
to church might alleviate that need, but so far, it had done
nothing but make her vulnerable. In all her born clays she'd
never dealt with so much inner turmoil. Even as a child, she'd
learned the art of coping under stress, strapping down her
emotions so they couldn't bubble forth. Lately, though, tears
threatened almost daily.

"I'm not exactly sure. I guess it feels like the thing to do." She
dropped down beside hire then and felt her shoulders sag, felt
the ancient mattress tilt precariously with her added weight.

"It's that preacher," Ezra stated.

She slanted her head at hini with a curious look. "What do
you mean?"

He gave his gray head a half shake. "He talks to ya like ya
was somebody important, like ya really matter to him and to
God. I tol' ya I'm thinkin' deep about the stuff he's been sayin'.
I ain't long for this earth, Emma. I'm squarin' things away with
my Maker."

She should have viewed hiiii with compassion, hauled him
up and made an effort to get him to the church, but instead
that old sense of anger circled around her heart again. She'd
jumped to her feet quick, as if a bee had poked her in the
backside, then pressed the wrinkles out of her skirt. Whether
it was his admission that he was dying or his remark about setting things right with God that had her reeling with confusion,
she couldn't say. All she knew was that she'd left him to his
own defenses not ten minutes later, shutting the door behind
her and heading up the street to Hickman's brand-new clapboard church, mingling in with the others who strolled up the
sidewalk in their Sunday duds, and feeling like the worst kind
of human being.

Jon's sermon wound down with his final point: God hears
the prayer of the righteous. In his deepest parts, he knew he
held his audience captive, not because of anything he'd said,
but because of the way the Lord's words had fairly flowed from
his mouth. Not for a minute would he take the credit for the
Spirit's moving.

Sunlight pierced through spotless windows, glancing off
the faces of those sitting in its direct path. Eiiiiiia's face, while
lit with glowing rays, betrayed some dark emotion he couldn't quite place. Lord, help her find her way to You, he prayed, even
as he delivered the last of his message. And help me to be patient
while I wait for You to work.

The big doors opened as he prepared to announce the
benediction. Heads turned, eyes gaped wide, jaws dropped,
and gasps of heaved-in air echoed off the plaster walls. Even
Jon, hands extended to deliver the blessing, paused midsentence to stare down the center aisle with utter stupefaction.

"I got soniethin' to say-if ya don't mind, preacher kid."
Unconinionly steady, considering his condition, Ezra Browning stood in the doorway flanked by Wes Clayton and Elliott
Newman. Luke stood behind the threesome, his ear-to-ear
grin nearly splitting his pudgy face in two. Not only that, he
looked proud as a peacock, as if he alone were responsible for
seeing Ezra to the church, and never mind their lack of punctuality.

Jon lowered his hands to his sides and cleared his throat,
issuing a silent prayer for wisdom and guidance. In haste he
sought out Emma but found her body turned full around like
that of everyone else.

"May we be seated, folks? I believe this is important."

Hushed voices exchanged hurried phrases as, one by one,
folks repositioned themselves, most looking bewildered, and
who could blame them? How often did the town drunk cone
to Sunday service and ask for their ear? Of course, Iris Winthrop took the cake with her haughty, contorted smirk, her
floral headpiece tilting to the point of almost falling off when
she jerked her head around to watch Ezra Browning's grand
entrance.

Whining children, obviously put out by the delay, precipitated the need for a few mothers to usher them out, but for the most part, everyone stayed, including the ashen-faced Enmia,
whom Jon worried might flee at any moment like a scared
rabbit.

With assistance on either side of him, Ezra made his way
to the front, shoulders straighter than usual, craggy face
pulled taut by what could only have been sheer determination. His clothes hung rather off-kilter, but that was probably due to his weight loss. Had Emilia dressed him before
coming to church, or had one of the boarders? Jon had felt
bad about leaving the chore to someone else when he'd
been taking full responsibility for his care, but on this, his
first Sunday in the new church, he'd wanted to spend some
extra time in prayer, so he'd left the house well before Ezra's
waking.

"He'p nie up then steps," Ezra instructed in a hoarse tone
when they finally reached the front, their progress so slow that
Jon felt certain most watched with long-held breaths. "When I
say my piece I want to see their faces."

Wes and Elliott exchanged a look but helped him up the
two steps, Luke standing at the ready, looking all-important.
Jon would commend the pair later for their kindness. He
doubted either one had seen the inside of a church in years,
so to march before the congregation now, making spectacles of themselves, must surely have taken courage. What
must Ezra have said to convince them to swallow their pride?
Shoot, they'd even spiffed themselves up for the occasion,
lie noted, Wes's grayish hair plastered down with gel and
parted down the middle, Elliott's white shirt appearing just
pressed.

Jon stepped forward to relieve the men of their responsibility. When they turned, the front row quickly squeezed together
to make room. Jon sent them all a grateful glance.

A quick assessment ruled Ezra capable of standing. Lord,
please lend him strength for whatever it is he wants to say, and
plant a seed of compassion in the hearts of Your people, he prayed.

His arni stationed around Ezra's curved shoulder, he
asked, "What is it you've cone to say, Ezra?"

The fellow breathed deep, and for a change didn't expel
a loud wheeze. If anything, he stood taller than usual, chest
out, chin held high. "I cone to confess my sinfulness," he
announced. The buzz that simple statement evoked nearly
rocked the little church off its fresh foundation. Jon hushed
them with a silent look.

"Go on," he urged, willing himself to remain calm despite
the inner joy that sought to burst right through his shirt.

"I figure the whole town knows 'bout my past, what a scoundrel I been. I got no real excuse for my behavior 'cept to say
that the devil hisself had a grip on me. But today I'm here to
tell ya the devil's got no more say. I give my heart to the Lord
jus' the other night while I laid in my bed." An undertone of
awe whistled through the place. Warmth, like wildfire, spread
the length of Jon's tall frame. Lord, is this really happening? He
wanted to gauge the look on Emma's face, but he dared not
move his gaze from Ezra.

"I wanted to get here earlier, but it weren't possible. Finally,
I convinced these two fellers in the front row, well, Luke too,
to get nie to the church. I felt like my seams would bust if I lost
my chance."

Jon could feel the pounding of his heart clear to his temples. He squeezed Ezra's shoulder a little tighter. "Keep going,
niy friend."

"My wife died back in '68 right after Emma was born, an'
niy heart liked to broke in two. I didn't know how to be a pa, as
most o' you know, so I did the worst thin' of all, I run from the responsibility, lost m'self in strong drink, treated my girl as if
she wusn't even there, most days.

"It was a big mistake and one I been payin' fer ever since.
Lost the respect of niy friends, what few I had, but worst, I lost
niy girl."

At that, Ezra shot a fleeting glance out over the congregation until he found where Emma sat. He gave her a long,
penetrating look. "Cain't blame 'er none for hatin' me as she
does, but I'm here to say to her and to you all that I'm plenty
sorry for my acts."

Stunned was about the only word Jon could think of to
describe her expression; that, and perhaps wariness and disbelief. If ever he'd prayed without ceasing, it was now.

"The preacher here's been tellin' me 'bout God's love.
Seems unlikely the Almighty could love such scum as nie, but
accordin' to the Bible I been readin', it's true enough. Matter
o' fact, He loves every one of you as well. `Bless the Lord who
forgiveth all our sins,' is what I read three nights ago. `His
mercy endureth forever."'

Ezra paused and cleared his throat.

Had a pin dropped to the oak plank floor, the sound
would have carried up the road. A baby's whimpering cries
split through the hushed air.

"After I read that verse I closed my eyes right there on my
bed and asked the Lord to forgive me. A peace come over me
like a flowin' river, ain't no other way to describe it."

"Amen, brother!" came the resounding affirmation from
someone in the back.

"Hallelujah!" someone else shouted, to which the congregation broke into spontaneous applause.

And that's when Jon's gaze snagged hold of Emma's and
she leaped to her feet. It was perhaps, in her mind, her only recourse. Escape. She slipped past Fancy Jenkins and then the
Warner fancily, and with head pointed downward, hurried up
the center aisle and out the double doors.

Eninia clumped down the sidewalk toward home, her
heart beating out of her chest, her eyes pointed to her feet lest
anyone try to stop her along the way. Tears longed to explode
from the back of her eyes, but she held them at bay. No doubt,
it would have made more sense to sit there with the rest of the
congregation while her father confessed, but she couldn't. His
words had pulled too tightly at her heart, like a cinched cord
that squeezed and squeezed. Mercy, if she hadn't left, she'd
have passed out from lack of proper breathing. Even now,
beads of sweat erupted on her forehead and drizzled down
her face, a result of her burned-out emotions.