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  A few snickers greeted that remark. Two of the men whose applications weren’t accepted sat in the congregation today, and Jake’s heart ached for them.

  “But then I thought, what we all need, whether we’re getting married or not, is to remember how we ought to live. As David asks in Psalm 15, ‘who shall dwell in thy holy mountain?’ Or maybe we could say, ‘who shall dwell in Angel Vale?’

  “The answer God gave David seems easy enough, but hard to live by. He says the same thing over and over, two or three different ways. Walk uprightly and do righteousness, and, by the way, that means don’t harm your neighbor. Speak the truth from your heart—and don’t slander others. Treat others right. The person who does that will never be moved. He’ll never have to chase after the next gold strike.”

  This time the laughter was more sporadic. They’d already seen a few men leave Angel Vale for the next gold strike.

  “That’s one of the reasons we wanted ladies here. We want to build a town and not let Angel Vale fade into a ghost town like a lot of other places I’ve seen. But God wants more from us.”

  That’s as much of his sermon as he’d planned. But sometimes—not every Sunday, but sometimes—God took over and words poured out of his mouth that he could hardly remember. Today he’d wanted a calm, predictable, service, but God had other plans.

  When he came back to himself, men were shouting “amen” and several of the ladies were weeping. Becky looked at him, tears streaming down her face, and she smiled.

  That meant more to him than everything, although it shouldn’t. God didn’t call Jake to preach to please one woman.

  A few men came forward to share what had convicted them—of cheating at cards, saying a lie, a little bit of everything. None of the ladies came forward, but they thanked him when the service ended.

  Becky did little but smile at him until they found a quiet spot at the back of the store while a few people lingered the door. She approached, stopping a few feet short of him. “You never told me.”

  “I just fill in. Someday we’ll call a real preacher.”

  “Oh, Jake.” After she closed the distance between them, she put a hand on the right side of his face. “If anyone was ever meant to be a preacher, it’s you.”

  He lifted his hand and placed it over hers, savoring the moment.

  “The problem is, I don’t know if I want to be a preacher’s wife.” A single tear dropped from her left eye as she walked away.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  A month had passed since the Sunday when Becky had heard Jake preach. No wonder the men of the town sought him out for advice—he was already their pastor, whether or not he believed it.

  And she was as uncertain now as she had been that day. Jake had taken her riding in the countryside, and she had spotted a stand of trees that called to her. Today she would revisit the place. In her saddlebag, she’d packed her Bible, her worn copy of The Scarlet Letter, her journal, and a sketchpad, along with a water flask, an apple, and her rifle. For a moment, she considered leaving without letting anyone know, so that no one would interrupt her retreat for peace and quiet. But that was foolish.

  She told Sophia, who like Becky still lived in the mill house, her plans. “I’m sure I can find the spot again, and I can take care of myself.”

  “I know. These men don’t understand the kind of dangers we’ve faced living by the sea.” She hugged the younger woman. “I’m praying you’ll find the peace you need. You’re a grown woman, so you don’t need me giving you advice. But if you ever want to talk with a friend, I’m available.”

  “I know, and thank you.” Becky hugged Sophia one last time before she climbed on the back of the mare Jake had provided for her. The pinto’s name, Prairie Rose, fit the wide open spaces.

  The pinto’s marking reminded Becky of the calico cat she’d left in Merville. Once she settled in a permanent home, she’d like to adopt a kitten.

  A permanent home. Where would that be, if not with Jake? That was the question of the day.

  She found the stand of trees she’d spotted the other day. She ground tied Prairie Rose, laid out a blanket, and settled with her back against the tree. The tree was unfamiliar, but Jake hadn’t warned her against it, so she guessed it was safe. Satisfied, she swung her braid down her right shoulder to enjoy cool air against the back of her neck. For late October, the weather was fairly mild, but she didn’t plan to stay long enough to get cold.

  When she stretched her arm to the sky, she felt carefree, happy, at peace. Perhaps out here, she could reconcile herself to reliving her mother’s life, the only life she had ever known. As long as she could escape to places like this from time to time.

  She wanted to hurry and make a decision, but enough of her father’s teaching remained to remind her any quest must begin with God. Beginning to end and everything in between, including all her questions.

  Father dived into Proverbs when making decisions. A godly solution, certainly, but Becky found them difficult. They weren’t commandments, like from Mt. Sinai, but principles. When she wanted guidance on difficult situations, she went to the Psalms instead. David’s poetry posed her questions in a form she could understand.

  Beginning with Psalm 1, she looked for verses on God’s counsel. Before long she had a list of more than fifty verses, most of them saying God would guide her in the way she should go, sometime in light as clear as day. If not enough to see years ahead, He gave enough sunlight for today.

  Maybe that was God’s answer: don’t worry about the future as a pastor’s wife. Instead, decide whether she wanted to marry Jake Underwood. If God wanted her to marry him.

  If she was willing to obey God—if Jake became a pastor. She leaned against the tree, the harshness of the bark a proper penance for her struggle to obey God, no matter what.

  Jake deserved someone who married him out of love, not reluctant obedience. She took her colors and her sketch pad. Although she was no artist, she still enjoyed capturing experiences with her own hand. Her mind filled with images of Jake. The spruce green of his shirt brought the color of his eyes, green filled with life and excitement, flecked with gold. In the sunlight, patches of red flared in his dark brown hair and a mustache that was mostly a rusty brown.

  Her pencils drew a young man at the height of his strength. A man to turn the head of any woman, he didn’t realize the power of his appearance. If she were choosing a husband on the basis of looks alone, he would stand at the top of the list.

  Becky grabbed her apple and munched it, soaking in the wide blue sky. Before long, she would have to return to town. Sighing, she took out her journal. Without a clear idea of where to start, she decided to list reasons for and against.

  Reasons to marry Jake: Embarrassed to write the truth down even in these private pages, she made herself do it. Looks. Status. He was definitely well thought of among the people of Angel Vale. Money—make that stability. Hard working. Compassionate. Soon good qualities filled the page.

  She’d turned the page and written “Reasons Against” at the top when she heard a snuffling sound altogether too close. She looked up into the face of an animal that reminded her a little of a calf, with hooves pawing the ground, a massive curly brown head bending close to the grass, sniffing at the apple. This must be a buffalo.

  In the distance, something bellowed. It came from a similar creature, only much bigger. The calf’s mother saw her baby in danger. As the mother exploded in her direction, Becky stood, weapon in hand. Shaking arms held the rifle to her shoulder.

  When the mother was ten yards away, Becky pulled the trigger at the same moment as arms swept her from the ground onto a horse, racing to the far end of the meadow.

  * * *

  Jake watched with growing horror as a bison calf wandered away from the herd and headed in Becky’s direction. She would find the baby enchanting. God made the infants of all animals attractive—and their mothers protective. He signaled Matt, who had accompanied him, and they went in separate directi
ons.

  Jake sped up his horse Blaze, eating up the yards between them. Soon, too soon, the mother discovered the absence of her calf. When she bellowed, Blaze charged forward at full speed. Becky was close enough for him to see. She had spotted the danger and grabbed her gun, fear etched on her face.

  Heart beating hard in his chest, he reached her seconds before the cow, scooped Becky in his arms, and raced away.

  Blaze would have run until his legs gave out, but the mother only chased them long enough be certain the danger was gone. Becky’s horse had the good sense to follow close behind.

  Only when they reached the far end of the meadow did Jake take a deep breath.

  He loosened the reins for Blaze to slow and felt the wild beating of Becky’s heart through the thin material of her dress. He glanced over his shoulder. The adventure had excited her. The wild ride had loosened her braid, and wind blew through it, long strands of curly brown hair with golden highlights. She looked lovelier than ever.

  When they had shaken the buffalo, Becky sat up straight, putting a couple of inches between her and Jake. He helped her dismount. He passed the water flask to Becky.

  “Be back in a minute.” Matt trotted in the direction of the tree where Becky had been sitting.

  “Thank you.” Her shoulders shook in time with her voice.

  She swayed, and he pulled her into his arms again. “Whoa, there, Becky. You’re safe now.” To fight the desires their closeness brought, he thought of the things he didn’t like about Becky. Most of all, her determination to never marry a preacher perplexed him. If he was the right man for her, his job shouldn’t matter. Should it?

  Today’s foolishness represented another trait he disliked. He wanted a wife who thought for herself, but not someone who took a risk without talking it over. Married to this woman, he’d be worried all the time. “Don’t ever do anything like that again.”

  She blinked. “You showed me the meadow. I thought it was safe.”

  He wanted to grab her shoulders and shake some sense into her. “Maybe I should have warned you. Or maybe I thought you would ask me before you took off on your own.” He closed his eyes and counted to ten, then opened them again. “We’d better get back to town before I say something we’ll both regret.”

  Her eyes widened. “Thank you for rescuing me,” she said, her voice small. She accepted his help onto her mare, holding onto the pommel the way she had clung to his shoulders.

  By the time they were ready to leave, Matt was riding through the grass, sending it in waves.

  “My Bible. I left it by the tree.” Becky picked up the reins, as if ready to head into potential danger again.

  Jake prepared to yank the reins, if necessary, to prevent her leaving. Keeping his voice calm, he said. “You have no need to worry. Matt’s bringing it.”

  She looked at him under her straw hat, her hair tumbling out of the braids, the sunshine bringing freckles on her face, slight evidence of tears on her cheeks. Her shoulders slumped. “Thank you. If I lost my Bible.” She swallowed, a tearful hiccup.

  Jake thought of his Bible and the person who gave it to him. “I understand. I could get another Bible any time. I sell them in the store, give ‘em away if someone can’t afford it.” He paused. Why was he bragging? “Nothing could replace my Bible. Lose that Bible, and I’d lose an important part of my past.”

  Her attention remained fixed on Matt. His horse trotted up a couple of minutes later. “I figured you left things behind.” He raised them one by one until Becky sagged with relief.

  Matt packed all but one item into Becky’s saddlebag. “You should see this.” He handed Jake the sketch Becky had drawn of him. She’d made him look more handsome than reality, handsome enough to charm the ladies in a gambling den.

  His face burned. “I don’t know what to say.” His mouth dried, turning his voice squeaky. His worry and anger about her foolish expedition ebbed away as he studied the picture. To make him look like that. . .she must like and admire him. It was his fault for not helping her understand the danger. “I wish I could return the favor. You are the prettiest lady I have ever met.”

  Her face flushed a deep claret before she turned away, the straw hat hiding the blush. “Thank you.” The prairie wind carried her whisper.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Late one early November evening, Becky was the only one in the mill house still awake. So many couples had married upon the brides’ arrival, they had plenty of room. Now it appeared that the majority of the remaining brides would wait until Christmas before tying the knot.

  The remaining brides-to-be had become close, a new experience for Becky. The parsonage had often been filled with people, but rarely anyone of her own age. Loneliness, the bane of an old maid—but a desire for companionship hardly qualified as a reason for marriage.

  The door opened and wind blew Jake in the room. “Becky!” He sounded as happy as Santa Claus.

  What brought the man here so late at night? He must have something important to discuss. Her hostess instincts kicked in. “You look so cold. Let me fix us some hot cocoa.” She took his coat and draped it on an improvised coat rack.

  “It’s about time you make me something to eat.” He laughed.

  His statement reminded her of all the meals she had cooked for guests, passing visitors, and dignitaries at the parsonage—enough to last a lifetime. How much more pleasant to fix food for her husband and family.

  Unless he became the pastor. No, it wouldn’t be the same. She doubted Angel Vale would ever have the same number of visitors as Merville. She set aside her worries.

  “I didn’t fix anything for us to eat, although there might be a piece of cake. I could fix a sandwich or toast some bread.” She headed for the breadbox.

  “No, I had supper. After all, you weren’t expecting me. No, I came, hoping to catch you before you went to bed.” He rubbed his hands together over the stove next to the spot where Becky was heating the milk.

  The sound of those serious words twisted Becky’s stomach. She mixed cocoa powder and sugar to the milk before pouring it into two mugs. She sat beside Jake at the table.

  Sitting side by side at the large table reminded Becky of evenings with Mother and Father around the fireplace.

  “You’re smiling.” Jake lifted his eyebrows in a question.

  “I’ve been thinking about my childhood tonight. Missing my mother. After she died, all the church ladies paraded through our house, bringing their best dishes for us to eat.”

  “Isn’t that the usual practice?” Jake asked.

  “Some of the spinsters hoped Papa would want to marry again. The married ones wanted bragging rights that the reverend liked their apple pie the best. By the time I was old enough to notice, he had learned to discourage the attention, The meals slowed down.” That meant she cooked more. The duties went along with her work as a part-time housekeeper, but she had enjoyed it.

  “But your father never married again. Do you know the reason why?”

  Becky thought about it. “I asked him a few times if I would ever have a new mother. He’d shake his head no. I worried sometime that he was lonely, but now, I wonder if he liked being alone. Sometimes I felt like he didn’t see me.”

  Jake’s arm sneaked around her shoulders. “No wonder you don’t want to marry another preacher.” He gave her a brief hug, then let her go. “Tell me, Becky. If I promise never to become a preacher, will you marry me? You know the preacher is coming through town next week.”

  His unexpected proposal left her surprised—shattered—unprepared.

  * * *

  Becky stared at him, her teeth biting her bottom lip, her eyes darkening with each passing second. His offer to bypass the biggest obstacle standing between them and marriage had been received with horror.

  She didn’t want to be a pastor’s wife, and he didn’t want to be a pastor. She was making a problem where none existed. Yet promising to never become a preacher didn’t seem to make her choice easier. />
  The real reason for her hesitation must be that she didn’t want him.

  “I didn’t expect you to ask me so soon.” She didn’t say anything while she stirred her cocoa. When she settled back down, she covered his hands with hers. “Jake, you are one of the finest men I have ever met. You are definitely the only man in Angel Vale I would ever consider marrying.”

  Then what’s the problem?

  “But you can’t make a promise like that, because you don’t know what God has planned for you. Do you think I would want you to choose me over the path He’s laid out for you? Besides, I may not ever want to marry.”

  His hands froze. She might not ever want to get married, no matter what he did?

  She lifted her hands from his and took a sip of her cocoa. “Besides, I suspect Angel Vale will build a church in the next year or two, and you are going to be their pastor. Either that, or you’ll end up joining the circuit with Preacher Reed.”

  “I’m not going to be a pastor.” Every time Jake repeated that statement, he lost ground. “But it sounds like that may not matter.” The cocoa which had tasted so delicious a few minutes ago turned bitter in his mouth. “I’ve got a hard day ahead tomorrow. We both do, if you’re coming over to help. If you still want to. I’m heading home.”

  “I’ll be there. Of course.” Becky followed him to the door, where he wound a scarf around his neck and tightened up his coat. “I’m sorry I can’t give you the answer you want. You deserve better than me.” Tears formed in her eyes.

  In spite of the hurt hardening in Jake’s heart, he couldn’t stand to see her pain. “You are exactly the right woman for me, if only you would believe it.” He kissed the tips of her fingers and left.

  In spite of the cold weather, he took a long walk before heading home. He didn’t know how to get through to Becky. He didn’t want to marry a woman who didn’t want him. But she did want him. She had said so. She just didn’t know if she wanted to get married, let alone to a preacher-man.