Texas Brides Collection (43 page)

Owen walked to the front. “May I?” He held the door open for the family, then Mrs. Strauss, and last of all, Ma and Rosie.

So many people waited before her, she could hardly see the sky. Although not as many waited as had come to yesterday’s party, a solid two dozen had arisen to attend church on this day of resurrection.

A silent whistle squeezed between Rosie’s front teeth. “Are you waiting to go to church with me this morning?” Heads bobbed in all directions. For a moment her heart quaked. She had expected to squeeze in a strange face or two, a small enough group to all sit on the back row and not raise a lot of questions. This many would capture attention. Suddenly she was glad for Owen at her side. He was her champion, and few in the church would fly in the face of his authority, both as a Ranger and as a Christian.

“Let’s go then.” Owen spoke to the crowd. “The church is about six blocks away.” He gave precise directions. “The congregation will gather on the east side of the church building, where they can see the sun rise. We’ll see them as we get closer.” In a lower voice, he spoke to Ma and Mrs. Strauss. “Do you ladies feel up to walking that far?”

Ma sniffed. “I’ve walked farther than that to get to work for most of my life. I reckon I can make it to a church service.”

Apology written on his face, Owen turned to Rosie. “Next time, I’ll bring a carriage, or maybe a wagon, so at least people can ride.”

He said “next time.” Rosie smiled in answer.

Their company squeezed single file through the carriages gathered on the church’s lawn. When at last Owen led them all to the right place, Rosie gasped in disbelief. Someone had covered an entire rose trellis with fresh flowers, turning the ordinarily unornamented lawn into the garden where Jesus was buried. She knew that, because a few feet away, someone had painted an empty crate gray, like the rocks covering the cave where Jesus was buried. She had read the story in all four Gospels this week, and each account washed over her in bursts of joy. “He is not here: for he is risen, as he said.”

Rosie watched her guests’ reactions to the story Owen knew so well. He knew she did, because he watched her while she watched them. Yesterday she had displayed an understanding of the Gospel—Jesus died, was buried, and raised from the dead. Exact words from Corinthians—beyond her recent conversion. As far as he knew, she had never seen the story reenacted before. There was Nicodemus, asking for Jesus’ body. The apostle John leading a weeping Mary away from the cross. Rosie placed an arm around her mother’s shoulder and wiped at a tear in her eye through that part of the story. The trip of three grieving women through the early Sunday dawn…like Rosie and her friends traveled this morning, Pastor Martin mentioned, a gleam in his eye. When they arrived in front of the “grave,” they discovered that the center rock had been moved, soldiers asleep on either side. The greeting by the angels…the women running with joy to tell the disciples…Mary Magdalene’s encounter with her Lord in the garden when she didn’t even recognize him.

When the congregation sang “Christ the Lord Is Risen Today,” Rosie joined in on “alleluia!” with every verse.

All around him, Owen heard shuffling feet and muffled weeping. When the pastor offered a time of invitation, half of Rosie’s guests went forward. Men, women, children, entire families.

Afterward, the ladies of the church directed those not involved in prayer and counseling to the tables laden with bacon, egg salad, and hot cross buns. Owen didn’t know how anyone could eat. He had rarely seen God work in such an amazing way. What was it Jesus had told his disciples? He had food to eat that they knew not of, and they all thought he was talking about bread and water?

Mrs. Wilkerson took Mrs. Braum’s place behind the tables as, no surprise there, Mrs. Braum went to counsel with a couple of women down front. Rosie was there, with her mother. How pleased she must be.

Dragging his attention back to the food tables, Owen spotted Mrs. Strauss. He helped her find a seat then fetched a plate with a good helping of everything. “Mr. Cooper, this is too much!”

Mrs. Wilkerson gestured for Owen to approach, and Mrs. Strauss excused him. “You don’t need to stay with me, young man. Go ahead and talk to your friend.”

Something told Owen he would prefer Mrs. Strauss as a friend over Mrs. Wilkerson, but he wouldn’t say so. “I’ll try to come right back.”

As soon as Owen reached Mrs. Wilkerson, Nancy appeared. “I’ll take over, Mother, so you and Ranger Cooper have a few minutes to talk in peace.” She smiled an apology. “We weren’t expecting so many people, you see.”

Bless Mrs. Braum for her foresight. The Wilkersons might not have expected the crowd, but Mrs. Braum had, after the amazing response to yesterday’s party and storytelling.

Mrs. Wilkerson led Owen a few feet away. She didn’t even bother to lower her voice as she rasped at Owen, “What does Miss Carson think she’s doing, bringing all this riffraff to our church!”

“Jesus Himself said He came to seek and to save the lost.” Owen offered a mild reply.

Mrs. Wilkerson plowed over him as if he hadn’t spoken. “For all we know, one of them is the thief who robbed my house! And now we’ve welcomed him into our bosom!” She heaved the aforementioned body part in indignation.

Owen tore himself away, worry fighting with anger over the effect such a diatribe would have on hearts Jesus had brought near. Mrs. Strauss dropped her plate, adding another victim to her collection of broken china. A tall man, who’d appeared to hold himself back during the invitation by only great effort, called his children. Owen’s heart broke when he saw Freddy was one of the children. His father’s rigid features told Owen the story. It would take a lifetime of blue moons before any of them showed up at church again.

On the way home from church, Rosie floated along in the clouds where the pastor said Jesus would someday return. She’d bet her mother floated along with her. Not until they rounded the final corner did she realize a few of her guests were missing. Panicked, she turned to Owen. “There’s people missing. We shouldn’t leave them to walk back on their own.” Owen’s visible black mood dampened Rosie’s happiness. “What is it? What happened?”

“Not everyone has as big a heart as you do, Rosie.” His face sagged as he spoke. “Not everyone was happy when so many people showed up with us today.”

Rosie’s mouth dropped. The Bible talked about increasing the number of people who believed in Jesus each and every day. Three thousand in one day, she had read. She couldn’t imagine anyone who’d already met Jesus would not want everybody in the world to believe. “Why not?” she demanded.

Owen hesitated even longer this time. “Let’s not talk about it in front of the others.”

She wanted to stop in the middle of the road and demand an answer, now. Maybe he was right. If something bad had happened, she’d rather learn about it in the peace and quiet of her apartment and not in front of people who might reject Jesus because of something an unkind person said. Her steps sped up, and tears of joy now mixed with tears of sadness.

A laughing group climbed the stairs to the various homes in the apartment building. When Owen followed Rosie into the apartment, Mrs. Carson looked at the table, which she’d set with their best dishes in preparation for the noon meal. “Mr. Cooper, I hope you will join us for our meal today.” She fitted her actions to the invitation, adding a third plate on the table as quickly as she could. “Or are your parents expecting you home?”

“My parents are home with the Lord. I’ve been staying with the Martins.” Owen blushed, a little. “Mrs. Martin told me to accept an invitation if it was offered. I would be honored to share your food.” His voice dipping again, he said, “But I wish I had better news to contribute.”

Although still consumed with a desire to discover what happened, Rosie put a finger to her lips. “If it’s that bad, let’s wait until after we’ve taken our fill of Ma’s wonderful beans.” From the aroma in the kitchen, she could tell Ma had added molasses to the beans as well. She poured three cups of milk from a small jar she had kept cool with a bit of ice. Rosie studied the amount of batter left in the bowl, and glanced at Ma and at Owen. Ma nodded. She would use all of the batter.

Did Owen have any idea how big a feast day this was for the Carsons? The molasses made it extra fancy. Ma only used it on special occasions like Christmas or a birth. The last time they’d had any was—a lump formed in Rosie throat—the day of Jimmy’s funeral.

Owen’s presence flustered Rosie. She’d never had a gentleman caller. Ma piled his plate high with extra beans and a johnnycake, adding a spit of the precious butter waiting on a saucer in the middle of the table.

Unlike Pa, Owen didn’t dig in right away. He waited with hands folded in front of him while they finished serving their own plates. When both ladies had taken a seat, he asked, “Would you like me to return thanks for the food?”

Ma looked at Rosie, a question in her eyes. Rosie’s thoughts flew to the Wilkersons’ dinner table, where a reverent hush had reigned at the table and everyone folded their hands. Mr. Wilkerson droned on in a prayer that made even less sense, with all its thees and thous, than the Bible. She followed the Wilkersons’ example of bowing her head and folding her hands, but Owen’s prayer was a simple, heartfelt expression of thanks for the provision of food, for Jesus’ resurrection, and for the new people in the kingdom of God today. He mentioned Ma by name.

Ma waited a bit after he said “amen” before looking up. “That was right nice of you to mention me to God.”

Owen laughed. “God is thinking of you all the time, Mrs. Carson. He is always with you; the Bible says so.” Owen ate half his beans before pausing, looking at Rosie, begging her not to make him tell the bad news that was coming.

His prayer had restored the joy Rosie had felt in the morning. “Go ahead and tell us, Owen. We’re strong women. I doubt you can tell us anything that’s worse than what we’ve already lived through.”

His mouth twisted in a crooked smile, and he ate another bite of beans, together with a second johnnycake. Laying his fork on the plate, he sat back in the chair. “One of the women at the church approached me about the people who came with you. She didn’t like it, not at all. Mr. Hill overheard her remarks and left.” He stuffed in another spoonful of beans, as if fortifying himself to deliver bad news. “And that’s not the worst of it. A couple of days ago, someone took food from the Wilkersons’ pantry. Yesterday Freddy told me someone gave everyone in this building a special gift of food—the same things that were stolen.” He glanced at the hands he had folded in his lap then looked back up. “Rosie, I have to ask. Do you know anything about the robbery?”

T
oday Owen wished he were somewhere out in the open countryside, with space for his horse to stretch his legs and gallop through big, empty spaces, while Owen’s mind filled with all kinds of thoughts. He did a lot of his problem solving that way.

Where did city dwellers go to do their thinking? Owen had tried walking down the street with his face turned to the ground. But he bumped into people, and complaints of “Look where you’re going!” followed him. He wasn’t much better off on horseback, since he had to watch for all oncoming traffic, whether people, wagons, or animals.