Tabitha: Bride of Missouri (American Mail-Order Bride 24) (6 page)

“I’m sure that would be all right,” Tabitha said, trying not to sound eager. “I’m sorry you have to leave.”

“And I’m sorry to tear myself from your side. Congratulations again. Oh, and you should know that the voting was unanimous.” Pastor Reed gave her a smile. “Let me speak to Mr. Scott, and then I’ll be on my way.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Tabitha protested, but he was already making his way through the crowd. She followed along behind.

“I wonder if I could prevail upon you for a very pleasant favor,” Pastor Reed said as he drew up alongside Mr. Scott.

“Certainly. What do you need, Pastor?”
“It seems that I’ve invited a young lady to a festival, but I won’t be able to see her home. May I turn Miss Phillips over to your care? I heard someone mention that you’re engaged to be married—would this compromise your situation?”

“No, not at all. Miss Phillips and I are already acquainted, as you saw, and I’d be delighted.”

The pastor looked relieved. “Excellent. I know she’ll be in good hands.” He turned to Tabitha. “Enjoy the rest of your evening, and I’ll see you at church tomorrow.” With a small bow, he was gone.

“Well now, Miss Phillips—or should I say, Miss Atwater—it would appear that you belong to me now,” Mr. Scott said, a grin on his face. “What shall I do with you?”

“I believe it’s time for the potluck,” Tabitha replied. “You could help bring my potato dish from the house.”

“Then by all means, let’s go get it.”

Tabitha pulled her shawl a little more tightly around her shoulders as they walked. The sun was lowering in the sky, taking the warmth of the day with it.

“I’m not sorry the pastor had to leave,” Mr. Scott said. “I know very few people here, and I’m glad for someone to talk to.”

“What about your friend—Hoss, was it? Isn’t he here?”

“Naw. He’s at home snoozing in front of his fire. He doesn’t go for things like this. And if you don’t mind my saying so, you seem a bit uncomfortable as well. Didn’t you want to win?”

“No. I was pulled into the whole thing. Although, I did enjoy the look on Darcy’s face when my name was announced.” Tabitha laughed at the memory. “I’m sure that makes me evil. I should probably talk to the pastor about it.”

“Are the two of you courting, then? He seems like a good fellow.”

Tabitha shook her head. “No. No, we’re not. For the thousandth time.”

Mr. Scott looked at her curiously. “I didn’t ask a thousand times.”

“You didn’t, but it seems like everyone else in town has. He asked to take me to the festival. That’s all.”

Once at the house, Tabitha led the way into the kitchen and pulled a pan of bubbling potatoes from the oven. She’d kept them on the lowest possible heat while she was gone, and now they were perfect. She placed the pan inside a box to make it easier to carry, then picked it up. “Shall we go?”

“Aren’t I helping you with that?”

She looked at his arm.

“Oh, that. Hmm.” He glanced around. “There must be
something
I can carry. Make me useful.”

“You could carry the serving spoon,” Tabitha suggested.

“A pity task? That’s the best you can offer me?”

She lifted a shoulder. “I don’t need anything else. What would
you
like to carry?”

“I would like to carry the potatoes. However, since I am somewhat incapacitated at the moment, the spoon it shall be.” He picked it up from the table and brandished it. “And I will wield it proudly.”

She laughed. “As you should. Now, let’s get back before all the good food is taken.”

Long tables were set up around the edges of the town square, and ladies from all over town were filling them up with food as fast as they could carry it in. Tabitha spotted the table where the other potato dishes were being set and put hers there as well, then tucked the box underneath the table so it would be out of the way.

“Now, where does this line start?” she wondered aloud.

As she and Mr. Scott waited their turn, they chatted merrily, and she enjoyed his humorous responses to nearly everything she said. Humor was important to her—having been raised by two people who rarely found anything funny, she appreciated every chance she got to laugh.

“What are you doing clear back here?” the mayor boomed as he walked toward them. “Our new Miss Atwater should be at the front of the line!”

“I’m perfectly fine to wait,” Tabitha said, but he wouldn’t hear any of it. He placed a beefy hand on the small of her back and guided her forward.

“Make way! Make way for Miss Atwater and her escort for the evening!”

People stepped to the side to clear a path, and Tabitha wished she could just disappear. That would be much more pleasant.

“Here you are,” the mayor said, depositing her by the first table. “Enjoy!”

As he walked off, Tabitha turned to the people behind her who used to be in front. “I’m so sorry,” she said quietly so he wouldn’t hear her. “I was just fine back there.”

“It’s all right, dear,” the elderly woman said, and her husband nodded. “It’s part of the reward of being Miss Atwater.”

Tabitha smiled, but then turned to Mr. Scott. “I didn’t even want to
be
Miss Atwater,” she whispered.

“Might as well enjoy it while you can,” he replied good-naturedly. “What’s the prize, anyway?”

“They haven’t said, but I’m sure it comes with embarrassment. Lots and lots of embarrassment.”

As they moved down the line, Tabitha helped Mr. Scott fill his plate. What would he have done without her help? She was more grateful than ever that the pastor had put them together, and it wasn’t for entirely selfish reasons.

***

“I didn’t realize a man with a cast could be such a good dancer,” Tabitha said as they crossed the street beneath the full moon.

“And I didn’t realize that being with Miss Atwater would come with so many benefits. First in line at dinner, first on the dance floor, first at the punch bowl . . . If I’d realized all that, I would have asked to escort you right from the very beginning,” Mr. Scott replied.

Tabitha laughed. “Well, let that serve to teach you a lesson.”

They reached the walkway up to the post office and paused there. Tabitha balanced her much-lighter box on the top rail of the fence. “You performed your duties most admirably, Mr. Scott,” she said. “The pastor will be very pleased with you.”

“I’m certainly glad to hear it. But don’t you think it’s time you called me Thomas? We’re friends, aren’t we?”
“Of course we are.”

He nodded. “All right then, Tabitha, I’ll see you at church tomorrow. And at the post office the day after that.”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

He saw her safely inside, where she put the box on the table before locking the door behind him. This had been one of the most enjoyable days she’d ever had, but one of the hardest, too.

The bundle of letters had been on her mind constantly for the last hour. The more she got to know Mr. Scott—er, Thomas—the more she liked him. Giving him those letters would make him a free man, and perhaps once he got over his heartbreak, he’d be willing to think about a relationship with her. But there was no guarantee, and it seemed unkind to hope for it. He loved Ivy, and Tabitha shouldn’t expect him to drift her way simply because he was available.

If only the note on top of the bundle weren’t so harsh. If Ivy had any heart at all, she would have taken the time to write a decent letter and explain herself more reasonably. The way she’d handled things showed her to have no heart whatsoever—she didn’t deserve the emotion Thomas was putting into their relationship. Had she been playing him for a fool all along?

Clara and Herbert seemed to have gone to bed, so Tabitha set the potato pan soaking, put out the lamp, and climbed the stairs to her room as quietly as she could. Once there, she put on her nightgown and climbed in bed, but her brain wouldn’t stop churning. If only she could somehow lessen Thomas’s pain. If only there was a way to let him down easy, a little at a time, instead of ripping his heart out with one swift motion.

Tabitha’s eyes widened in the darkness as a thought struck her. Maybe there was something she could do. What if . . . No. She couldn’t do that. It was wrong, so very wrong. She could get in so much trouble. But even as she half-heartedly tried to talk herself out of it, her heart blossomed with hope. This was something she could do, something that would ease his burdens at a time when so many things seemed to be working against him.

She could write to Thomas, pretending to be Ivy, and slowly begin to pull back from their relationship. Over the course of a few letters, she could drop little hints about how Ivy was changing her mind. Then, when it came time to break things off, he would have seen it coming, sensed that something wasn’t right, and it would feel like a welcome relief rather than an utter shock.

But it would be wrong.

Tabitha rolled over and punched her pillow, trying to get comfortable. It was one thing to write letters that Thomas dictated to her. That was done with full permission. It was quite another to write in someone else’s name. How would she mimic the handwriting? The only samples she had were the angry words scrawled on top of the bundle. How would she guess at Ivy’s style of correspondence? What if her first letter to Thomas had been long and detailed—he’d know right away that the second letter was from someone else, as they wouldn’t match.

Again, even as she thought about it, the idea persisted. It would save him pain. It would save him grief. But would she be doing it for him or for herself? It seemed an impossible decision to make, and she was still wrestling with it as she fell asleep over an hour later.

Chapter Seven

Tabitha walked into church the next morning fully resolved to hand Thomas the bundle of letters and be done with it. He’d said he was coming into the post office on Monday—she’d do it then. She felt good about her decision. But then, when she saw him standing at the end of a pew in a Sunday suit, his hair slicked back, her determination crumbled. She couldn’t dream of doing anything that would wipe that grin off his face.

Thomas shook hands with Herbert and nodded at Clara, and then they were seated. Tabitha slid into the pew first, thinking Thomas would follow, but Clara inserted herself between them, followed by Herbert, so Thomas ended up sitting on the aisle. At least they were somewhat sitting together, she supposed.

Pastor Reed did preach well. His sermon was about charity, and his words were encouraging rather than condemning. She never had liked sermons that tried to convince her she was doomed for doing any little wrong thing. Rather, she preferred being urged to try again. She might find herself liking this congregation.

After the service, the pastor stood at the door and shook everyone’s hand. “I trust Mr. Scott saw you safely home?” he asked as he greeted Tabitha.

“He did. And thank you for being such a gentleman and arranging it,” she replied.

“I wonder if I might stop by later this afternoon. To talk.” He looked a bit uncomfortable making his request, and she winced. Was he planning to bring up the topic of courting again? Hadn’t she been clear before?

“I suppose,” she said hesitantly, wanting to refuse, but knowing that Clara was right behind her and probably listening to every word.

“Excellent. I have a lunch invitation today, but I’ll be by afterwards.” He gave a slight bow, and she moved through the doorway and out into the autumn chill.

“What was that about?” Clara wanted to know as they met up on the sidewalk.

“I’m afraid I don’t know,” Tabitha replied.

“Miss Phillips! Tabitha!” Thomas came up beside them. “It was a pleasure to see you today.”

“And you. I trust your arm is feeling somewhat better.”

“It is, a bit. I believe dancing may have done it some good after all.”

Perhaps he caught the severe look on Clara’s face, or maybe he really did need to leave, but he raised his cap and took a step away. “Have a peaceful Sunday, and I’ll see you again sometime. Mrs. Wilcox. Mr. Wilcox.”

“He seems a very impertinent young man,” Clara remarked as they headed in the opposite direction. “He certainly acts like he knows you.”

“He escorted me home last night when the pastor got called away,” Tabitha explained. “We talked a bit, and we did get to know each other.”

“And does he realize the pastor has set his sights on you?”

Tabitha resisted the urge to sigh, although it was very strong. “The pastor knows that I’m not interested in marriage right now.”

“And I think you’re being foolish beyond words.” Clara’s mouth set in a firm line, and the rest of the walk home was in utter silence.

***

Tabitha waited until Clara was busy in the kitchen, then tiptoed into the post office and retrieved the bundle of letters from the drawer where she’d placed them. Seeing Thomas that morning had shattered her resolve, and now she believed she had to take action. She had just slipped the letters under her pillow when she heard Clara calling, and she went down to set the table.

Herbert lowered himself into his chair with a thunk. His skin was more of a natural color, but he seemed weak, and Tabitha wished she had any notion what was wrong. She doubted he’d go see Dr. Gideon—Herbert was a very private man, and one who didn’t believe in doctors much anyway.

“How are you feeling, Herbert?” Tabitha ventured.

“Fine. Just fine.” His reply was almost a bark, and she winced. Something was wrong, but he wasn’t going to discuss it. Stubborn man.

“Pastor Reed asked to come by this afternoon,” she said a moment later, trying to break the silence that hung over the room like a cloud.

Clara looked up from her bowl of soup, a spark of interest in her eyes. “Coming to court, is he?”

“No. He and I are just friends.” Perhaps if she kept saying it, eventually someone would believe her.

“Foolish.” Clara went back to eating, and Tabitha reached for the butter. Why had she come back to town, exactly? Oh, that’s right—she’d had nowhere else to go. She wondered if she should have stayed in Massachusetts for another few weeks and advertised as a governess or something. Surely that would have been better than this.

Herbert took one more spoonful of soup, then pushed back from the table. “Going to bed,” he mumbled before shuffling away.

Clara didn’t acknowledge that he’d spoken.

Tabitha weighed her options, then decided that if she didn’t say something, she’d most likely regret it. “Do you think Herbert should see a doctor?”

“You know how he is. Wouldn’t see a doctor if he chopped off his leg and needed it sewn back on.”
“I do know. It’s just . . . this seems serious.”

Clara plopped her spoon into her bowl. “It is serious, missy. His health, our debts, our entire situation. Don’t think I haven’t been trying to fix it, because I have. For twenty years, it’s been one thing after another, and some things won’t be fixed. Now, finish up and get ready for the pastor. And for heaven’s sake, don’t chase him away. He might be your best chance.”

Oh, Tabitha certainly hoped not. He was pleasant to look at, and he was kind, but there was nothing more to it than that. If they were to marry, she’d likely have everything she needed—everything but the most important thing of all. She wanted to be in love.

As soon as Tabitha finished eating, she prepared the dishwater. “I’m washing up this time,” she told Clara before the woman could protest. “Why don’t you go rest with Herbert?”
Clara opened and closed her mouth a few times, but no sound came out. Finally, she gave a nod and left the room. Well, that was one way to render her speechless.

Once the dishes were done, Tabitha went into the parlor and picked up a book. She’d just reached chapter two when Pastor Reed tapped on the door.

“Thank you for letting me pay a call, Miss Phillips,” he said, still standing on the porch. “I wondered if you might take a stroll with me.”

“Of course. Let me get my shawl.”

Tabitha strolled down the sidewalk, the pastor at her side, wondering what he’d come to say. She wished she could just enjoy the beautiful fall weather, but until he satisfied her curiosity, she wouldn’t be able to think of anything else.

“How did you enjoy the services this morning?” he asked as they rounded the corner onto the next street.

“They were very nice. I especially appreciated your sermon.”

“Thank you. I hoped it would be well received. I never know until after the fact if it’s what the people are ready to hear.”

“I’ve never thought about it from the clergyman’s perspective, but I imagine it must be difficult to prepare a sermon week after week and to choose the topics.”

“It is difficult, especially when I feel I should address a potentially divisive subject. Some people comment on the sermons as though they’re giving a book report in school, grading me on my delivery or my chosen scriptures.” He chuckled. “It’s rather exhausting.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I hope most of your congregation is kind.”

“Most of them are, and I’m very blessed. It’s just those few who keep me up on Saturday nights, wondering if my sermon will be any good. Shall we sit?”

They had reached the small park in the center of town, and Tabitha took a seat on the bench Pastor Reed indicated. He sat next to her and cleared his throat. “Miss Phillips, I have a problem, and I have no idea how to fix it. I wondered if you would take a moment and offer some advice.”

“I’ll try, but I can’t say that I’m particularly good at giving counsel.”

He leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. “There are certain expectations placed on a pastor that I must fulfill. In addition to my weekly sermons, I’m to attend to the ill and the needy, be present at town events, and make myself available to any who need spiritual guidance. I do all this willingly and eagerly—I very much enjoy and am edified by my calling. However, there is one expectation I have yet to meet, and that is taking a wife.”

“That’s an expectation?” Tabitha should have known better than to think he was calling on her for any other reason.

“It is. I set the example for the congregation, and it is God’s good will that men and women should marry. If I remain unattached, I can hardly expect my congregation to believe me when I speak to them about it. I must find a wife who is modest, filled with charity, willing to work alongside me, and is not guilty of perfidy. Of course, if she happens to be pretty, I certainly wouldn’t complain.”

“Perfidy. That’s a rather weighty word.” Why couldn’t Tabitha think of something more to say?

“It’s a rather weighty issue. My wife must be completely above reproach, and I haven’t found a young woman in this small town who fits those requirements. None of them seem to be sober in their thoughts or refined in their speech. But then I met you, Miss Phillips, and I realized that you are exactly the type of woman I need by my side. Mrs. Smith was right.”

“Mrs. Smith suggested that you call on me?” Now things were starting to make sense.

“Yes, she came to see me shortly after you arrived on the train. She outlined your qualities, and I’ve found every one of them to be well represented. Will you reconsider, Miss Phillips? For my sake, and that of my congregation?”

“You want to marry me because it would be good for your congregation?”

“It would be good for me as well. I’m sure of it.”

Tabitha looked out across the park. The grass still retained most of its color, although patches of it were starting to turn brown and wither away. She remembered what this place looked like in the summer, a riot of greens and yellows as the dandelions bloomed. The gardener in charge of this plot worked round the clock to keep the little monsters at bay, but they kept coming back, brighter and more cheery each time.

“Do you ever think about falling in love?” she asked after a long moment. “Do you ever imagine your heart pounding when you see her walk into the room, the thrill of hearing her speak?”

“I don’t think about things like that,” he replied. “I must stay focused on my calling. If I spent my time daydreaming, I wouldn’t be effective as a pastor.”

“But you want to be in love, don’t you? There’s nothing in the Bible to condemn it. In fact, I’d say that God wants us to be in love or He wouldn’t have created it.”

“I’m sure I would love my wife. We would appreciate each other’s qualities and admire each other.”

Tabitha looked at him in disbelief. “I’m not talking about appreciating each other’s qualities! I’m talking about holding hands while strolling down the street. Gazing into her eyes across the dinner table. Dancing with her in the kitchen because you want her in your arms. Love, Pastor! I’m sure you know what that is.”

He looked down at the ground. “I’m not supposed to desire selfish things.”

“You feel that being in love is selfish? What about all the blessings you’d bring into her life? When a woman knows she’s loved, she can do anything. Loving her would be serving her, and that would be the greatest service of all.”

“I never thought about it that way.” He looked back up and smiled. “You’re very wise, Miss Phillips. Wise, and yet cruel. This is a rather firm rejection.”

“I’m sorry, but yes, it is.” She reached out and touched his arm. “I wish all the best for you, and the best is to find that girl who makes your heart sing. She will stand by your side because she loves you, not because she feels she has to. Then you’ll truly be happy.”

“And you believe that girl exists?”

“I do. If God wants you to marry, He’ll make a way. I’m sure He’s a much better matchmaker than Mrs. Smith.”

Pastor Reed patted her hand where it lay on his sleeve. “Thank you, Miss Phillips. You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

“You’re a very good man, and you deserve every happiness. Now, I’m getting quite cold and I’d like to head back, but may I invite you in for some chamomile tea?”

“I think I’d like that. Thank you.”

***

Tabitha and the pastor had a nice chat over their teacups, and by the time he left, she felt much relieved. He had accepted her rejection—at last—and was eager to find a woman he could love and respect simultaneously. She didn’t know why he’d thought he had to choose one or the other—perhaps he thought that a woman righteous enough to be a pastor’s wife wouldn’t also enjoy twirling around a kitchen floor with him. She was glad for the chance to set him straight.

Then it was time for her other pressing concern. Making sure her bedroom door was closed, Tabitha untied the bundle of letters and spread them out on her bed, arranging them by date. It looked like Thomas had written Ivy once a week for the first month, then increased to twice a week.

She felt like a thief as she opened the first letter. She wasn’t quite as upstanding as the pastor thought, was she? Perhaps she should have told him about this little dishonest streak of hers—that would have chased him off rather quickly. Shaking her head to clear out the thought, she read the letter, impressed by Thomas’s neat penmanship.