Tabitha: Bride of Missouri (American Mail-Order Bride 24) (9 page)

“I’ve come to pay a call, if you don’t mind. You look rather busy—am I interrupting?”
“No, I’ve done about all I can until my friend gets here.”

The pastor put his hands on his hips and looked over the frame lying on the ground. “I’m pretty fair with a hammer and saw. Mind if I pitch in?”

Thomas hadn’t figured the pastor for a carpenter, but he wouldn’t turn down the offer. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

He explained what they were doing, and the pastor immediately set to work preparing the second frame to match the first. Thomas would never admit as much to Hoss, but Pastor Reed was the quickest worker Thomas had ever seen.

“How’d you enjoy church on Sunday?” the pastor asked after he’d driven the first nail.

“To be honest, I usually struggle to pay attention during sermons, but I liked yours quite a bit. Charity is a good topic.” Thomas paused and grinned. “And now here you are, practicing what you preach.”

The pastor smiled in return. “Wouldn’t do any good to preach it if I wasn’t ready to live it. Where’s the next piece of wood?”

By the time Hoss showed up, the two other men had already put together half the frame. “Well, looks like I’m not needed after all,” Hoss said, making as though to leave.

“Hold on there,” Thomas said, grabbing his friend by the suspender straps. “You promised you’d help.”

“Yes, but that was before you brought in the professional here.” He thumbed over his shoulder.

Pastor Reed laughed. “I’m anything but a professional. I’ve just had a lot of experience. Come on—if we all work together, we can get this done and the next started before nightfall.”

As they worked, Pastor Reed asked Hoss a series of questions. At first, Thomas thought he was just being polite, but then he noticed that the pastor was actually feeling Hoss out for where he stood on the topic of religion. He smiled, but didn’t comment. Apparently, a pastor could take off his hat, roll up his sleeves, and pick up a hammer, but he’d still be a pastor through and through.

***

The next morning when Thomas walked outside, he saw a stack of new wood sitting by his front door. He looked left and right, but he didn’t see anyone, and he didn’t hear the sound of a wagon or horses. Whoever had brought this must have done it in the dead of night, with the quietest wagon ever invented. There was no note, no bill—nothing to indicate where it had come from. It must have been a gift, although he wished he knew who it was from so he could thank them. A gardening shed wasn’t a necessity, and to someone else, it might seem like a small thing, but to him, it meant a great deal. It was more to offer Ivy, and it was something that made him feel useful.

Without even realizing what he was doing, he tried again to twitch his fingers. When the results were the same as always, he pushed his disappointment to the back of his mind. He had other things to think about today.

***

“Look what I have!” Tabitha called out when he entered the post office that afternoon. “It’s another letter from Ivy!”

He didn’t bother to go out on the porch this time. Instead, he pinned the envelope down on the counter with his cast and ripped it open with his other hand. He knew it must look awkward to Tabitha, but she never said anything or offered to help. He was glad about that—he wanted to do as much for himself as he could.

Dear Thomas,

I’m keeping my promise and writing more frequently. I hope you’re proud of me. School has begun, and all the things that go with it. Yesterday, Billy put a frog on Mary’s seat. It created quite a scene, and it took an hour to catch the frog and deliver it back outside. It was impossible to teach after that, so I let the children go home early. Tomorrow had better be more productive.

I’ve decided that my yellow dress simply won’t do for school—there’s just something about it that makes me feel confined. I received some wonderful advice from my favorite store clerk, who suggested a different fabric. I’ll be much happier, I’m sure.

I realized after I sent the last letter that I never said anything about a wedding date or when I’m planning to come to Atwater. I’m afraid I really am committed here at the school until after the holidays, so January would be the very earliest. If they haven’t found a replacement for me by then, it might be a bit later. I hope that’s all right. I can’t leave the children without a teacher.

I do hope you’re well and that you’re taking care of my little house. I’ll write again soon.

Thomas felt a stab of disappointment. She wasn’t coming until January? And maybe not even then? He’d known when she first contacted him that she was a schoolteacher, but he hadn’t realized she had made such a binding prior commitment. If she was that settled in Dover, why had she decided to become a mail-order bride?

“Is something the matter, Thomas?”

He glanced up at Tabitha’s question. “No. Yes. Well, I’m not exactly sure. She says she’s not coming until January.”

“Oh, that’s too bad.”

“Yes, it is.” Thomas folded the letter up, but couldn’t get it back in the envelope, so he just tucked it in his pocket and threw the envelope in the small waste basket in the corner. “However, this gives me time to finish the shed and maybe even draw up some plans for a larger front room.”

Tabitha smiled, and for the first time, he noticed a small dimple in her cheek. “That’s one thing I admire about you. You’re always looking for the positive.”

“I wouldn’t say that. You have no idea how disappointed I am right now.”

“But that’s just it. I have no idea because you’re showing me the good that can come out of this. With an attitude like that, you’ll go a long way.”

“I hope so.” He paused. “Do you know where the pastor lives?”

“Yes, he’s in the small yellow house right next to the church. That’s where the town pastor always lives—the house gets passed down along with the pulpit.”

“Thanks. I’ll see you later, Tabitha. And thanks for your friendship. It means a lot to me.”

She seemed to be blinking back tears. “It means a lot to me too.”

***

Thomas saw Pastor Reed sitting on his porch, reading his Bible, and had to chuckle. It was so . . . pastor-like.

The man looked up as Thomas approached. “You seem to be in a good mood, Mr. Scott.”

Thomas kept chuckling as he shook his head. “You’re creating quite the picture here. Pious man studying the Word in the afternoon sunshine.”

Pastor Reed laughed. “It’s a nice reminder for anyone passing by. What can I do for you?”

“I believe you’ve already done it.”
“Oh? Please explain. And have a seat.”

Thomas took the vacant rocking chair and stared out onto the street. “A nice stack of wood was delivered to my house at some point during the night. I’d say it’s just the right amount to finish the project I’ve started.”

“Is that so?”

“It is. Now, isn’t that just the most remarkable coincidence? I get a visit from the pastor, and the very next morning, I have exactly what I need.”

“It’s quite a miracle, I’d say.”

Thomas turned and looked at the pastor’s smiling face. “Thank you. It means a lot to me.”

“What makes you think I had anything to do with it? There are many good people here in Atwater, Mr. Scott. Any one of them could have done it.”

“But would they have known how much wood I needed, or what type? I don’t think so.”

The pastor shrugged. “I don’t have that kind of budget. The church’s funds are quite limited, you know.”

“Well, if you didn’t pay for it, you know who did, and I’m still grateful.”

Pastor Reed rocked back and forth a few times. “There are angels who walk among us, sometimes in human form, to minister to the needs of man. Sometimes those angels really are mortals who are moved upon by the mind and will of God to do something kind. All that’s asked of you is that someday, when you see a fellow being in need, you return the favor you received.”

“I will. You have my word on it.” Thomas reached out with his left hand to seal the bargain, and with a smile, Pastor Reed shook it.

Chapter Eleven

“Tabitha!”

She jolted awake at the voice that called her name. “Yes?”

“Hurry! Get the doctor!”

There was nothing but panic in Clara’s tone. Tabitha threw back her blankets and grabbed her shoes, then put on her heavy robe. She didn’t care that she was still in her nightdress—it was long and thick. She ran down the stairs and out the door, wishing for the first time that they had a horse. The town was small enough that she generally walked everywhere she needed to go, but now she was in a hurry, and a horse would be a blessing.

By the time she reached the doctor’s house, she was completely out of breath, and her hand was numb as she pounded on the door. He opened it a moment later, his hair wild from sleep. “Miss Phillips! What’s the matter?”

“Herbert,” she gasped, and he nodded.

“Come inside and get warm. My wife will make you a pot of tea. Now, don’t argue—you simply must warm up.”

She allowed him to lead her to the fireplace, where the flames had been banked for the night, but it still emitted a nice glow. She held up her hands to the heat and felt the chill slowly thaw away.

“You poor thing,” Mrs. Gideon said, bustling in with a tray. “Drink up now.”

“I need to get back,” Tabitha said. “I’ve already been gone too long.”

“The doctor left right after asking me to make the tea, dear, and he gave me instructions not to let you leave until your cheeks were the right color. I’d say we still have a few minutes to go.” Mrs. Gideon poured her a cup, then generously added sugar and cream.

“Thank you. I don’t mean to seem ungrateful.” Tabitha sank into the chair nearest the fireplace and cradled her cup between her hands.

“You don’t seem ungrateful at all. You’re worried about your loved ones.” Mrs. Gideon sniffed the air. “You know, that tea smells good. I do believe I’ll join you.”

Tabitha didn’t know if it was the warmth of the tea, the softness of the chair, or the time of night, but within minutes, she found herself fighting to keep her eyes open.

“Why don’t you take a little rest, dear? I’m sure the doctor’s doing everything he can back at your place, and your cousin will most likely need you to spell her off tomorrow. Close your eyes—I’ll let you know as soon as the doctor comes back.”

Nothing sounded more wonderful. Tabitha leaned her head against the side of the wing-back chair and fell asleep.

True to her word, Mrs. Gideon touched her shoulder about an hour later. “The doctor’s buggy just pulled up,” she said.

Tabitha straightened, instantly wide awake. The doctor walked in a moment later and grabbed the fireplace poker, bringing the embers back to life and then throwing a few small bits of wood on top. Once the fire was going again, he turned to Tabitha, a sober expression on his face.

“Herbert has experienced an episode with his heart. He’s resting comfortably now, but he’ll be incapacitated for some time, and may actually never be fully functional again. We’ll have to wait and see.”

Tabitha stared at him, trying to understand what he’d just said, but the words wouldn’t sink in. “His heart?”

“That’s right. I believe the emotional burdens he’s been carrying as of late have taxed him too greatly. He wasn’t strong to begin with—he’s seen me several times for an irregular heartbeat. I’m sorry, Miss Phillips, but you should prepare yourself for the worst, and be there for your cousin as she does the same.”

Tabitha turned her gaze to the fire. The flames danced merrily now, a complete contradiction to the tone in the room. “I see. What can we do for him?”

“Spoon him broth, read to him, keep him company. As the days go by, I will evaluate his progress. I wish I had some definite prognosis, but I don’t.” He gave her a compassionate look. “Come now. I’ve left the buggy out front, and I’m going to give you a ride home. You’re not fit to walk, and I refuse to have two patients at your house instead of just one.”

Mrs. Gideon wrapped a thick quilt around Tabitha’s shoulders. “Take care, dear. And get some rest.”

All the way home, Tabitha kept that quilt pulled tight around her neck, but she doubted she would have felt the cold anyway. She felt numb, utterly numb—in her thoughts, in her body, in her soul. She’d known Herbert was ill—that was obvious—but she hadn’t realized that it would change his entire life, or perhaps even
take
his life.

When they arrived at the post office, she thanked the doctor, left the quilt in the buggy, and ran inside. She closed and locked the door, then climbed the staircase, dreading whatever she was about to see.

Clara sat beside the bed she shared with her husband, holding his hand while he gently snored. The tracks of tears ran down her cheeks, although the tears themselves had dried. She turned as Tabitha approached.

“I didn’t want to marry him,” she said, her voice so low, Tabitha almost wondered if she’d heard correctly. “But we’d been indiscreet, and I was carrying his child.”

Tabitha opened her mouth to reply, but she had no words. She was too surprised to know how to respond.

“So we married, and we moved here so no one would know just when I became with child. But then . . . but then the pregnancy failed.”

Tabitha closed her eyes against the wave of tears that threatened. Now she understood. Clara’s inability to have children was likely the result of whatever happened with the failed pregnancy. So many things made sense now—her sullenness, her behavior toward Herbert and his toward her, the resentment that sometimes flowed off her like a river.

“For twenty years, I’ve regretted what happened—regretted that we got involved, that I got pregnant, that we got married. But tonight, I realized something. I realized that I actually love this man, and the thought of losing him . . .”

Clara’s shoulders shook, and Tabitha reached out and set her hand on her cousin’s shoulder.

“If he dies, he’ll never know how I feel. I’ll never have a chance to make it up to him, to show how sorry I am.”

“The doctor seemed to think he’d still be with us for a time,” Tabitha assured her. “He spoke to me about spoon feeding. Would he have done that if he felt Herbert was going to die?” She deliberately said nothing about being told to prepare for the worst. That wasn’t what Clara needed to hear.

“I don’t know.” Clara wiped her eyes with the handkerchief balled up in her other hand. “I just know that I can’t live without him.”

Tabitha wished she had words to take away this pain and fear. Instead, she chose to say nothing, but kept her hand on Clara’s shoulder. After a while, Clara lay down next to Herbert, and Tabitha went into her own room. What an awful, terrible pall had fallen over the whole house.