Courting Emma (Little Hickman Creek Series #3) (45 page)

"Phoebe and Oscar Browning already had a set of fiveyear-old twins, but they agreed to take Ezra off her hands
in an attempt to cover up the horrid circumstances of his
birth. Truth be told, they didn't really want him though. My
father grew up in a loveless home. And the worst part-he
never knew why. Apparently, the twins found out about the
adoption, but their mother made them swear to keep the hideous family secret to themselves. They managed to do that
but found ways to torment him, make it clear they resented
him."

Jon's eyes narrowed as he shook his head. He shot a glance
up Main Street then back at her. "Any idea who this birth
mother is?"

"I'll get to that. Accordin' to Edith, Grace's mother, her
youngest sister never could convince her mother of the rape.
In fact, after confessin' it, her own mother-my great-grandmother-refused to believe her and went so far as to accuse
her of seducin' her husband. Can you imagine?

"My great-grandmother took to her bed and fell into
some kind of deep depression, and the only solution was to
send Ezra's birth mother away, young as she was. She went to
live with her older sister, the one who took Ezra. But it was a
bad situation. The girl wasn't much more than fifteen when
Phoebe told her to leave, saying it'd be better for all concerned
if she simply found a way to disappear. They gave her plenty
of money to set out on her own, so she moved to Chicago, far
from family-and her son-even changed her last name, so
the association with family would cease to exist. In time, Edith
and her husband, John, also moved to Chicago. They started
having children and decided to settle there.

"Edith kept informed of Ezra's whereabouts, especially
after he left the Browning household, and she relayed the
information to Ezra's mother, who by now was filled with deep
regret for having abandoned him. When Ezra and his new
wife, niy mother, moved to Little Hickman, his birth mother
started devisin' a plan for movin' here."

A light seemed to dawn in Jon's eyes. "You're talking about
Clara Abbott, aren't you?"

Emma paused and swallowed down another hard knot.
She gave a slow nod. "Clara was my father's mother, and he
never knew it. That's why she took such an interest in my life,
left me the boardinghouse, tried her best to look after me, and was so concerned when Ezra failed miserably in bringin'
me up.

A look of wistfulness stole into his face. "If only she'd told
hiin who she was. It might have helped."

Emma nodded. "According to Edith, she was too ashamed.
She was afraid what his reaction would be after so many years.
She did desert him, after all. She thought he might punish her
by refusin' to let her see nie, and you and I both know he was
just ornery enough to do that. I was the one light in her life
that kept her going, gave her hope."

Jon's other hand came up to brace her other shoulder. He
looked down into her eyes, searching, probing. "This explains
a lot. The old fellow never had a clue how to give or receive
love, and the death of his young bride only taught him how
quickly it can vanish. He didn't have any idea what to do with
you, Emilia. He had no clue how to raise you, how to love
you.

"With no role models, he stumbled through the whole
process, and then the alcohol only made matters worse. But
you have the power to stop that pattern of abuse, give yourself
to another, namely our Lord Jesus, and allow Herr, to father
you. He can heal your hurts and give you a brand-new beginning. He can help you forgive the years of abuse you had to
suffer.

"If Ezra Browning can seek and find forgiveness for his
past, surely you can do the same."

New tears rolled down her cheeks, making a hot path.
Without help for it, she dropped her head into his chest and
felt his arms go round her. While in his embrace, he took
her to the alley behind the livery. There lie held her and
listened to her sobs, wracking sobs that nearly swallowed
her whole.

"I-I want to do that, Jon. I want to ask Hini to cone into
ny heart."

She felt a tiny quiver pass through the preacher's body and
heard a gentle sigh. His chin cane to rest on the top of her
head and his embrace tightened.

"Oh, honey, there is no better tine than the present to
make that happen. No better time than now."

"Are you going to tell him?" Jon asked later on their walk
back to the boardinghouse. No-nave sauntered along behind,
the old mutt's loyal presence contributing to the friendly atmosphere between them. As much as he wanted to hold Emma's
hand, declare his love for her, give a hallelujah whoop that
all of Little Hickman was sure to hear, he kept his emotions
carefully contained, wanting to give her time to ponder on the
decision she'd just made. He hadn't even kissed her, although
he'd wanted to, longed with all his might to hold her soft body
close to his for hours on end. But the Holy Spirit's nudging
won out. Too much too soon could scare her off. No, he didn't
want to throw his tender love for her into the mix just yet, not
when she had so many other things to chew on.

She looked at him. Her eyes still shimmered with wetness,
but in their depths shone peace and resolve, despite the little
frown that crinkled her brow. "Grace thinks we should, and
I suppose he deserves to know that his mother did love him,
even though she never came forward. What do you think?"

Jon wasn't sure what to tell her. The man's health was precarious. Could such an announcement make natters worse?
God, please lend Your wisdom to this situation. Give Grace and
Emma peace and direction.

"I'm afraid I can't tell you what to do. What we can do,
though, is pray about it. God will make it clear when the time
is right."

And so they sat on the little bench in front of the post
office and bowed their heads while Jon said a brief prayer.

When the grandfather clock downstairs bonged three times
to mark the early morning hour, Emma punched her pillow
and turned over. Sleep refused to cone even though exhaustion
overtook her body. Beside her, Grace slept like a kitten, every
measured breath emitting a tiny snuffling sound. Despite her
predicament, she smiled. Who would have thought just twentyfour hours ago that she'd be lying next to her cousin, that her
lush of a father would have gone to church to declare his newfound faith and ask forgiveness from his daughter and the entire
church community, or that she would have made the same lifechanging decision to follow Christ later that day? And what of
the fact that the woman who'd bequeathed her the boardinghouse was her actual grandmother? Her mind reeled.

If that wasn't enough, there was the matter of Jon Atkins.

She'd fallen in love with him-head over heels, to be exact.
And it blew her away. Two months ago, she hadn't thought herself capable, or even interested, and now here she was fairly
swooning over him behind his back. What were the chances of
him reciprocating that love? Anybody with a brain knew she
wasn't preacher's wife material-no matter that she'd asked
Christ to forgive her sins. She had so far to go in this Christian
walk, so much to learn. An ordinary Christian man wouldn't
fool with her, let alone the preacher, for mercy sakes! Yes, he'd
kissed her that one time, but surely he'd done it in a moment of weakness, perhaps pity-and with obvious regrets-for
he'd never attempted it again, not even after she'd prayed the
prayer of forgiveness.

Was he looking for awonian like Hannah Clayton, someone
well established in her faith? The Clayton family had attended
services Sunday morning, but a handsome young man sat next
to Hannah. "That's her old beau from Lexington," Fancy whispered loud enough for anyone within two pews, in front or
behind, to hear. "Mrs. Winthrop claims they's gettin' married
after Christmas."

Well, Iris would know if anyone would, Emma thought to
herself. For once, she was glad the woman made it her business
to learn the affairs of others, for it meant she could rest easy
where Hannah Clayton was concerned.

Her mind spun crazily as she wrestled with her thoughts.
Suddenly, they drifted to Ezra. One part of her wallowed in
peace such as she'd never known before-she was a Christian
now, an actual child of God-while another grappled with what
that entailed; how, if at all, it would change her relationship with
her father. Could she forgive him? Yes, she'd decided she could.
But would God give then time to reshape the snarled mess
they'd made of each other's lives? And if He didn't, would it really
natter? So much had transpired through the years. Was it even
worth the bother of rehashing it? Wasn't it enough simply to let it
all go? Moreover, should she tell him about his tangled past?

She had a sudden need to peek in on him. She got up,
donned her housecoat, and tiptoed barefoot down the
stairs, frowning at the fifth step when it gave its usual creaky
announcement that someone was out of bed.

As if sensing her presence in the doorway, he jerked awake.
"What...?" he murmured, eyes gone big. That set off an unwelcome string of coughs.

She crossed the room and offered him water, trying to
prop him up as he gasped for air. Guilt for having startled him
coiled around her like a snake.

When the raspy hacking finally settled, he took a sip then
fell back on the pillow, obviously bone weary. "What you Join'
up?" he asked.

"Couldn't sleep," she said, pulling up a chair and situating
it next to hini. "How are you feelin'?"

His lungs wheezed and whistled. Doc had said there were
no pat answers as to how long he would hang on. Could be
days, could be weeks.

"I been better," he said. "Ever since I give my heart to God
I been hankerin' fer a drink. Tonight's been the worst. Ain't that
strange? Preacher kid says the devil'll do that to a new child o'
God 'cause he's plain mad you decided to go the other way."

She pondered that thought. "I don't have any brew in my
house, and my boarders know I'll have their throats if they slip
you anything. Hopefully, the cravin' will pass in a clay or so."

"This trustin' the Lord business is new to me, but the
Scripture I been readin' says God gives strength to the weak.
I'm believin' He'll see me through this powerful want."

Emma leaned back in her chair and gave her father an
assessing look, awed by the fact he'd changed so drastically.
She longed to tell him about her own profession, but the
subject of faith had never cone up between them, and the
notion of vocalizing it touched a weak spot that needed coddling. Despite his own forthrightness in unloading his confession before the whole church-and surely by now all of Little
Hickman had heard the news that Ezra Browning, the town
drunk, had found religion-her own decision felt too private
to share just yet. Oh, she'd told Grace, but only because she'd
nearly dragged it out of her, wanting to know the details of her evening stroll. But it hadn't felt natural. She longed for the
confidence to let it cone easy.

He pointed his gaze at the ceiling. "I been a worthless fool,
Emma. Never treated you like ya deserved."

"Don't think on it now, Pa. It's not worth worryin' over." If
that was her way of accepting his apology, it was lance at best.
Moments of silence lay between then. Finally, he cleared

his clogged throat and aimed a questioning look at her. "I s'pect
ar cousin knows ya got the bad treatment from me. Seems like
she knows quite a lot 'bout my growin' up years, too, her bein'
Edith's daughter an' all. What all'd she tell you?"

A stone of worry nestled in her throat. When she'd cone
downstairs it was to check on him, not to talk into the wee
hours, least of all to divulge ugly family secrets.

Besides, Grace wasn't here to lend support.

God will make it clear when the time is right. Jon's words bore
a hole in her nieniory.

"She told me you sent her mother a letter back in April
telling her how sick you were."