The Preacher's Wife. Cheryl St.John

All of them?”

      “With names like Michael and Gabriel? Yes, most likely.”

      “Well, that shoots a hole in all the Christmas pageants, now doesn’t it?” Josie replied thoughtfully.

      The girls studied her. “What do you mean?” Abigail asked.

      “The parts of the angels are always played by little girls,” she explained. “‘Behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy’ and all.”

      Elisabeth said nothing. Abigail and Anna exchanged a look.

      “Why don’t you wash your hands at the pump there,” Josie suggested, to move past the uncomfortable moment. “You can help me roll and cut the biscuits.”

      Anna looked up at her through thick lashes.

      “And you may be the cutter. I have a tin can that makes perfect circles.”

      Anna glanced at Elisabeth, who gave her a barely perceptible nod, before taking the can from Josie and watching while she gathered the ingredients.

      The simple task was completed quickly, and the biscuits came from the oven uniform and golden-brown. “Let’s call your father, shall we? I’ll make a tray for Reverend Martin.”

      After she’d taken the reverend his food, the Harts gathered informally in the roomy kitchen.

      “Will you pray over the meal, sir?” she asked Samuel.

      He said a brief blessing for their food, thanking God for His provision.

      

      “Help Mrs. Randolph with the dishes,” Samuel said after everyone had eaten.

      “Please,” she said. “Call me Josie. And I can see to the dishes. Let me show you your rooms so you can get settled.”

      Anna drew a breath in excitement, and she and Abigail looked at each other.

      “There’s a room for you, Reverend, and one for the girls to share. When we heard you were coming, I set up another narrow bed. Two can sleep on the larger bed and one on the small one.”

      He glanced at her, and she noticed creases at the corners of his eyes that he’d earned squinting against the sun. “They’ve been sleeping cramped together on a feather mattress in the wagon. A real bed will be a pleasure we’ve all nearly forgotten.”

      She led them upstairs and showed them the two small rooms with sloping ceilings. Anna immediately spread the top half of her body over the larger bed, spreading her arms wide, her cheek pressed against the quilt. She closed her eyes and sighed.

      The exhausting effect of their grueling trip couldn’t have been plainer. Samuel exuded strength and purpose, but his stance betrayed weariness. The girls’ fatigue was evident, as well, and there was an uncertainty in their expressions that saddened her.

      She pushed open the wide windows so a breeze could filter through. “The reverend gets chilled easily, so I keep the parlor warm for him. With the shade trees, it cools off quickly up here, if you open the windows on both sides of the house.”

      “The rooms are nice,” Sam assured her. “Thank you.”

      “This is the parsonage—and the reverend is unmarried, so he doesn’t use these rooms. I simply cleaned and aired them out before your arrival. We weren’t sure when you’d be here.”

      “We’ll bring in a few of our belongings. Is there a laundry in town?”

      “There is, but I’d be glad to take care of it for you.”

      “You have no idea what you’d be getting yourself into,” he replied. “Our clothing hasn’t been properly washed since we left Philadelphia. I’d be more comfortable paying someone.”

      “The laundry is a small building behind the milliner’s shop. You can’t miss it.”

      She excused herself and took care of the dishes and the kitchen, then set out kettles, soap and towels. She made sure Reverend Martin had everything he needed for the evening.

      “Thank you, Josie,” he said as she prepared to leave.

      “I’ll come make breakfast for our guests in the morning.”

      “You spend more time here than you do at your own place,” he said with an appreciative smile.

      “There’s not that much for me to do there,” she told him. “I’d rather be useful than sit around and do needlepoint.”

      He shook his head. “You deserve a family, Josie.”

      “I guess if I was to have one, God would have given one to me by now,” she answered matter-of-factly.

      She walked the few blocks toward her home, enjoying the setting sun and the pleasant summer scent of freshly cut grass from the lot beside Mrs. Wilbur’s property.

      The Iverson children, along with a couple other neighborhood youngsters, were playing in the yard beside hers as she passed.

      “Gretchen! James! Time to come in!” Alice Iverson called from her front steps. She noticed Josie and waved. “How’s the reverend?”

      “Doing well,” she called back. “And the interim preacher arrived today.”

      “I’ll be looking forward to Sunday.” Alice ushered her two up the painted porch stairs, and the neighbor children scampered home.

      Josie observed the Iversons’ movements through the lace curtains of their well-lit dining room windows for a moment before catching herself staring. She turned away to hurry along her own walk and to climb the wooden stairs to the dark and silent two-story house she had once shared with her husband.

      After turning her key in the lock, she paused momentarily before pushing open the door.

      You deserve a family, Josie. Reverend Martin’s words echoed in her mind like footsteps in a barren house. She’d certainly wanted a family her whole life. She’d thought marrying Bram would fulfill her dream, but it wasn’t meant to be.

      She entered the waiting silence.

      After locking the door behind her, she made her way past the open stairway to the kitchen, where she lit a lamp and put a kettle of water on the stove.

      The clock in the parlor chimed the hour and the melodious sound reverberated throughout the rooms. Josie steeped tea and carried a cup with her as she wandered the main floor, ending up in the dining room.

      She could probably polish the silver tomorrow. She had invited the ladies to hold their quilting session here later in the week, so she had tablecloths to iron and a luncheon to plan. She stood in the darkened room, sipping from her cup, idly thinking about the menu. Her gaze wandered to the triple windows and the lights on in the house next door.

      Her dining room faced the Iversons’, and by inching aside the curtain, she could observe the family sitting around the table. Karl Iverson was reading aloud while Alice and the two children sat nearby. Alice held something that looked like an embroidery hoop. Before long, she set down her handiwork, and the four of them bowed their heads.

      Josie wished she could hear their prayer. She wondered what their needs were. Perhaps they were all prayers of thanksgiving for their health and family. She let the curtain drop back into place. She had as much to be thankful for as the Iversons. She was healthy. Between inheritances from her father and her late husband, she owned a house, half of a newspaper, and had a generous monthly income. God provided her daily needs plus a whole lot more.

      “Thank You, Lord, that You meet all my needs,” she said with heartfelt gratitude.

      Her thoughts traveled to the Hart family, to those lovely young ladies and the loss and hardships they’d suffered. That day their eyes had spoken of their grief more clearly than any words could have. Reverend Hart possessed a quiet strength. She sensed purpose and dignity in his movements and his words.