The Preacher's Wife. Cheryl St.John

lit out.”

      She laughed easily. “You don’t have to thank me. Your worst is easily some people’s best.”

      “Well. You’ve seen who I am. And I’ve gotten to know you pretty well, too, I think. What I’m trying to say is that…maybe we had this time for a reason.”

      She studied him curiously.

      “I’m not at my best, obviously. But I’m getting there, slowly but surely. I won’t be tied down forever. In a few more weeks I’ll be back to normal. The Harts will move on, and life will resume as it once was.”

      Though she didn’t want to think of that day, she nodded her agreement. “Yes.”

      “But we don’t have to go back to the way it was. You’re a good friend, Josie. I can be a good companion as soon as I can get around. We’ve both been married before and lost someone, and we can respect that former part of our lives. I wouldn’t expect to replace Bram, because I’m not him. But we don’t have to be lonely.”

      Henry Martin’s words slowly permeated her thinking, and Josie tried to put them in order in her head. Enjoyable time together. Companionship. Not being lonely. She studied the dancing flames for a moment before casting an incredulous gaze on him. “Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”

      “I’m not doing a proper job of it, am I?” He frowned. “When I’m able, I’ll get down on one knee—”

      “That’s not necessary.”

      “But yes, I’m asking you to marry me. I’m extremely fond of you, Josie. Marry me and come live here with me. Or I’d live in your home if you preferred. As long as we kept each other company…”

      Marry him and move him into her house? An image of Margaretta in a disapproving tirade loomed in Josie’s mind, and she had to blink away the picture. She gathered her tumbling thoughts. “Reverend—”

      “Henry. I’m a few years older than you are, of course, but not that many. Years don’t really mean anything.”

      “I hadn’t even thought of that.”

      “What did you think of?”

      “Well…nothing yet. I haven’t had time to think.”

      “Of course you haven’t. I just dropped it on you. There’s no hurry.”

      She nodded and rose to stand. She needed to go home.

      “Josie.”

      She looked at him.

      He extended a hand.

      She took it and held it.

      “Think it over,” he said softly. “You’ve been alone for several years. I’ve been alone for fifteen. We could keep each other company for the rest of our lives and, God willing, that will be a good, long time.”

      She nodded. “I will. I’ll think it over.” She released his hand. “Good night. I’ll come fix breakfast before church in the morning.”

      He nodded. “Thank you.”

      She turned back once to look at him, her thoughts a jumble in her mind. Josie stepped out into the night and walked toward home. It was dark now, and as she passed the Iversons’, she could see the family gathered in the parlor. Alice had never bothered closing shades or drapes. Josie’s neighbor had nothing to hide.

      Marry the reverend? Her thoughts tumbled one over the other.

      Alice and Reggie had been married shortly after Josie had married Bram and come to live here. From her next-door vantage point and during occasional visits over the hedge, Josie had witnessed the arrival of Alice’s children, seen guests coming and going for family holidays and birthdays and admired the natural flow of their lives. From her viewpoint, it was all quite imposing and foreign.

      She’d pretty much resigned herself to being alone, and had found activities to keep her busy. She’d taken on volunteer work to make herself feel useful.

      Josie unlocked her door and stepped into the echoing silence of her house. Closing her eyes, she leaned back against the door. No voices here. Nothing of importance for which to set aside chores. No scuffed floors or tangle of sweaters and shoes. No reason not to stay up reading half the night.

      Josie didn’t feel like stoking and lighting the stove just for a single cup of tea, so the coffee she’d shared with the reverend would suffice.

      The reverend. She struggled to think of him as Henry. Using his first name seemed disrespectful. Definitely awkward.

      If she married him, her motivation wouldn’t be for a grand love. She would be striving for companionship. He’d said it as plainly as that, although he had mentioned he’d grown fond of her. Ignoring for a moment the reaction of her mother-in-law, she let herself imagine him living here with her. She would have someone to share her meals and someone to share the fire of an evening. Guests would drop by. Josie pictured ushering them in and pouring them tea and serving cookies and slices of pie.

      An uncertain smile curved her lips upward.

      Perhaps the reverend would continue to hold his Wednesday-evening Bible studies. She could make an adequate place for the participants in the drawing room.

      After lighting the lamp in her room, she undressed and used tepid water to wash before slipping on her nightclothes. It was a warm evening, so Josie opened her bedroom window, welcoming the breeze. She was wide-awake.

      Running her fingers over the spines of the books on her bureau, she selected one and made herself comfortable in her padded rocking chair.

      She had read the first page at least half a dozen times, without remembering the words, before she closed the book and turned down the wick so the room was thrust into darkness.