Courting Emma (Little Hickman Creek Series #3) (46 page)

He nodded. "Never heard back from 'er."

"She was too ill to reply. She gave the letter to Grace to
read." Emma swallowed hard. "She also told her about your
upbringin'."

Ezra adjusted himself on the narrow cot and grunted.
"She tell you why she don't think it was my own parents what
raised nie? Or how she happened to know Clara Abbott?"

"I-she-had a few things to say on the subject." She stood
and stretched. "I'm tuckered. Can we talk in the mornin'?"

"It shouldn't take ya long to tell me what she said," he
pressed.

The old house creaked and groaned as if in dire pain.
Even when no one was about, the thing had a way of talking to its residents, and if she weren't so used to its varied sounds,
she might have thought it ominous. Outside, some cats yowled,
probably tussling over a mouse. A dog barked into the mix,
disturbing the otherwise tranquil early hour.

Emma sat back down as the grandfather clock chivied the
half hour. When was she going to get some sleep? Plain weariness pushed a yawn through her clenched teeth.

"Did you ever question whether the people who raised you
were your actual parents?" she asked, bracing herself.

"Sure." That set her back. "We never was close, so I can
truthfully say it wouldn't have mattered one way or the other
to me, and it'd be a pure blessin' to discover them twins weren't
my real blood."

"Oh, you shared the same blood, all right. They just weren't
your siblings," she dared to add, keeping her shoulders erect.

"Eh? How do ya mean?"

She sucked in a cavernous breath and blew it out slowly.
Whispering a hasty prayer, she proceeded with caution.

"The twins were actually your cousins."

Clouded eyes gave her a blank stare as he let that piece
of information set awhile. Then, as if a light had dawned, he
quirked one gray brow. "That'd mean that my ma and pa was
actually...."

He didn't finish.

"Oscar and Phoebe Browning were your aunt and uncle."

"Then who...where ...?"

Oh, Lord, how to tell him. Another sigh blew through her
chest. "You had a mother, but she-was too young to care for
you, a mere fourteen years old."

"Not married?"

She shook her head.

"Who was my pa?"

The old rattle cane back to announce the coning of
another hacking spell. She pursed her lips, willing it to halt
their discussion, then feeling guilty for wishing it. Determination seeped out his eyes as he fought back the want to cough.

"Who?" he repeated on a rasp.

"He-was-he was your grandmother's second husband.
Your birth mother-your birth mother was Phoebe's youngest
sister, Clara. Clara Abernathy-Abbott."

Jon listened from his room as Emma tiptoed up the front
staircase. He'd been tempted to leave his bed when he awoke
to Ezra's terrible hawking, but then heard Emma's voice and
figured she had things under control. Long after the coughing spell had ended, their voices carried up the register, but
not enough to ascertain their topic. Now and then, he'd catch
a word or a small piece of a sentence-cousin-aunt Chicago-was a long time ago-right here in Little Hickman. He
wondered if Emma had decided to tell her father about his
past, and if she had, why in the middle of the night?

He could tell when she rounded the hallway at the top of
the stairs because the board that he usually stepped over to
avoid its creak sounded loud and clear. He leaped from his
bed, threw on his trousers and shirt, and raced to the door.

She turned around when the door opened and gave a jolt
of surprise. "What are you doing up?" she whispered.

He hooked a finger at her to encourage her return. Slowly
she tiptoed toward his room. Her eyes, red-rininied and weary
looking, held another indefinable emotion. Caution? Insecurity?

"I couldn't sleep."

She shrugged. "Join the crowd."

"I heard you talking to Ezra. Couldn't make out your
words, but I got some of the drift of it. Did you tell him-about
his past, about Clara Abbott being his mother?"

She nodded slowly.

"How'd he take it?"

"Better than I expected. I think God was right there in the
room, Jon. The words seemed to come out pretty good-from
both of us."

"You get things talked out between you then?"

"Not as much as you'd think, but it was a start. Mostly
we talked about the people who raised him, what memories
remained, what, if anything, he could recall about his grandmother's second husband, which really amounted to nothing.
I 'niagine the man wanted nothing to do with him. In fact, I'm
sure every time folks laid eyes on Ezra, they thought about the
awful disgrace, even though it was all Orville Lindsay's fault."

He quirked his eyebrows.

"That was the name of the nian who married my greatgrandmother less than one year after her husband passed,"
she explained. "Accordin' to Grace's mother's account, he was
a mean cuss, abused in some way or another every one of the
six children, including Edith, until one by one they left home,
leaving Clara, the youngest, with nowhere to go. When she was
just thirteen, he...well, you know."

"Yes."

Her chin dropped and she seemed to study her toes, which
peeked out from the hem of her sleeping coat. He did the same
and found them slender and well formed. In fact, if one could
look at feet and call them pretty, he'd never seen prettier ones.
He leaned a shoulder against the doorframe and gave her a
sweeping gaze, which she never detected. Exhilaration soared
through his veins despite the hour. She was a Christian now. Didn't that free him up for courting her? The idea of courting
Emma Browning set off a tingling in the pit of his stomach.

He tipped her chin up. The shift caused several tendrils
of her golden hair to tumble in an elegant manner around
one small shoulder. Without forethought, he twined a strand
of it around his finger. Her eyes widened with surprise then
focused on something over his shoulder. He smiled. "It was
good that you told him, Emma."

She glanced at him for one second. "You think? I hope the
timin' was right. I did pray about it."

Warmth curled through his veins. "Then all you can do is
trust that the Lord was in it."

"I s'pose you're right."

"It's been a long day for you. You best get a couple of hours
of sleep."

She nodded, her hair still entwined in his finger. When
she turned to go, he tugged at the lock, forcing her to stop
and look at hint. He leaned forward, one hand on her shoulder pulling her close, intending to kiss her, intending to make
it one she wouldn't soon forget, but the door across the hall
opened before he had the chance.

Eiiima lurched backward. Jon's hands dropped to his
sides.

"W-what you t-t-two doin'?" asked Luke in a voice loud
enough to wake the whole town.

'race's presence in the house added life and luster, if not
a sense of style and civility. It was a downright shame she
was leaving in less than a week, Wednesday morning to be exact.
Everyone from innocent Luke to rough-and-tumble Gideon
seemed bent on minding his manners. They came to the table
with pressed shirts and clean hands and faces, and cleaned up
speech, to boot. More than once Jon had to close his gaping
mouth when the men raced to be the first to pull out Grace's
chair. Often, glances of amusement passed between Emma and
him, and when her smile reached her eyes, it was all he could do
not to proclaim his love for her right there on the spot.

The last four days had found Ezra bedridden and with a
worsening cough. Eninia tended to hint more than Jon did,
insisting he take in water, fluffing up his pillow, straightening his bedcovers, and administering medicine prescribed
by Doc. She fed him spoonfuls of soup, read to him from
the Bible Jon had given him, and sat in the chair beside
his bed while he dozed. Jon watched in amazement as the
flat-out miracle took place before his eyes, the mending of
two wounded souls. Ezra complained one night that she still
hadn't told him she forgave him, but Jon had said, "Actions
often speak louder than words, my friend. She's doing the
best she can right now."

Doc Randolph had shown up on Tuesday morning just
before Jon headed out to make a few calls on parishioners.
He'd hung back to watch while Doc put the instrument to
Ezra's heart and lungs then caught the solemn look Doc shot hint. On the porch a few minutes later, the old doctor shook
his head and said, "It shouldn't be long now."

"But he's been pretty good of late," Jon argued.

Doc shrugged. "Sometimes it works that way. He'll be
good for a few days at a time then take a big turn the other
way. I'ni not saying he won't swing back again, but you should
tell Enmia to prepare herself."

He wanted Doc to tell her, but she and Grace had been out
running errands at the time. Just a little more time, Lord, he'd
prayed. Please, don't take him yet.

It was Friday afternoon. The Sterlings were expecting him
for supper, but he had to track down Clyde Winthrop first.
Jon directed Jupiter up Main Street, tipping his hat at folks as
lie journeyed past the post office, Doc's place, the bank, and
Flanders' Foods. At Winthrop's Dry Goods, lie reined in his
horse, tied hire to a post, and walked inside.

Busy with a customer when the bell above the door
sounded, Iris glanced up and gave hini an instant smile. "Well,
Reverend," she fawned. "How lovely to see you."

Fancy Jenkins emerged from behind a bolt of linen and
fairly gushed. "Reverend Atkins! You comin' in to buy some
thread, are ya?"

He tossed back his head and laughed, fumbling with his
hat. Millie Jacobs, the woman who assisted Iris at the counter,
turned and gave him a pleasant smile. In her arms, her oneyear-old daughter, Rose, stuck a couple of fingers in her mouth
and stared at him.

"Afternoon, ladies. No thread needed today. I'm looking
for Clyde. Didn't find hire over at the house."

"You won't find hire there, Reverend. A wagonload of
inventory came in three days ago, and he's been busy in the
back room sorting shelves," Iris replied. "I'll get hint for you."

Clyde appeared from behind the curtain just as Iris turned.
"Well, howdy, Reverend. Thought I recognized that booniin'
voice. How you been? Life seen different for you living over at
that boardinghouse? Fine sermon, Sunday."

"I've adjusted quite well, and thank you."

"It was a downright surprise to have Ezra Browning show
up in church," Clyde added. "My!"

"Surprise. It was a shock," Iris chivied.

"It's been the talk o' the town," Fancy put in. "Folks is just
plain blew away by it. Who would've thought Hickman's biggest elbow bender would find the Almighty?"

"Of course, he would wait until he landed on his deathbed," Iris chortled, her face a marble effigy of contempt.

"Iris," Clyde said.

"Well, it's true. How convenient for him after having lived
a completely reckless life to suddenly get saved."