A Christmas Promise (Kansas Crossroads Book 16) Read online

  “Not at all,” Richard replied.

  “Good, because if you did, I’d tell you to move past it as soon as possible. Much of what we do is bringing comfort to those who are ill or dying. We have a few doctors in town, but the one we call on most is Dr. Wayment. I’ll make you a list of the others, as I’m sure you’ll need them, and I’ll also make you a list of the leaders of the other congregations in town. I currently work the most closely with Reverend Bing. His chapel is a bit over that way.”

  Richard listened carefully to everything Pastor Osbourne said, trying to absorb it. He didn’t just want to prove his uncle wrong—he genuinely wanted to do some good in this town, and he was anxious to learn how to reach the people he’d be serving.

  “I’ve been riding out to the different ranches lately, hoping to encourage the cowboys to join us,” the pastor continued. “Many of them hold church services on their own, those who are religious, because their ranches are so far out of town. I’ve attended their services from time to time, and while they aren’t fancy, they don’t need to be—they bring the men a taste of goodness. They’ll sing a song together and take turns giving a spiritual thought, and I’ve found myself uplifted. The men out at the Lazy Q show up more than they used to—you’ll enjoy getting to know them.”

  They turned the corner, and Richard recognized that they had one more street to go before they’d be back at the parsonage. He was glad the city was laid out more simply than other places he’d been.

  “And now to the topic of a wife.”

  Pastor Osbourne changed subjects so quickly, Robert almost didn’t follow him. “I . . . beg your pardon?”

  “Some religions ask that their leaders remain unmarried, but as you know, we allow marriage and even encourage it,” the pastor said. “Personally, I think it’s one of the best things you can do, and I’d even suggest that you get married as soon as possible.”

  “I was planning to wait until I was more settled,” Richard replied. “Shouldn’t I have a house first, a place to put a wife?”

  Pastor Osbourne waved his hand as if that wasn’t important. “When there’s a need, the Lord will make a way. Having a wife will give you comfort and stability. It will make it easier for you to do your work. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve come home ruffled and concerned, and Olivia has soothed my feelings.” He paused and chuckled. “I hope you realize, Richard, just what you’re in for. The ladies in town will start parading their daughters in front of you, expecting you to choose a wife as though you’re picking an apple from a barrel. There are a lot of fine, upstanding young ladies who would do you credit—once you look past their meddling mamas.”

  Richard shook his head. “It’s been so long since I even thought about courting, I doubt I’d do it justice. I can’t imagine any of those young ladies wanting to tie themselves to me.”

  “They will, and your task won’t be easy. Choose someone who complements you the way Olivia complements me, who can walk alongside you and be your partner. Choose someone you can support in her endeavors—and who challenges you in your thinking. She will be a blessing in your life.”

  That sounded quite a lot like what Parker had said the night before, and Richard had to wonder if they’d concocted a scheme to get him married off. He didn’t remember his parents well enough to know if they’d had one of those blessed marriages, but he did know that his uncle and aunt merely tolerated each other most of the time. He’d never seen them show any affection, and their voices were always a bit terse. With that as his primary example, it was no surprise that he hadn’t made courting more of a priority, but these friends of his seemed to have entirely different views on the subject altogether.

  He had so many insecurities about his new role—how could he ask a woman to walk along beside him as he struggled and failed to understand himself? She should have confidence in him not only as a husband, but as a spiritual leader, and he was untested in both. Shouldn’t he have a better grasp on who he was as a man and as a servant of God before asking someone to share that life with him?

  He couldn’t imagine Pastor Osbourne making the recommendation unless it was important, though. The pastor didn’t seem like a man who would toy with someone’s feelings or encourage them to do something imprudent, so Richard had to take it seriously, whether or not it made sense to him.

  The two men reached the parsonage, and they parted ways to wash up for dinner. It had been quite a busy day filled with home visits and counsel, and Richard’s brain was churning as he tried to remember all the names he’d learned and to connect them to their faces. His struggle to memorize was going to be a sore spot to overcome as he met all the parishioners. He was tempted to make a list of all the people he’d met and carry it in his pocket for reference—he might be able to get away with that for a short while, but he imagined he’d be found out sooner or later.

  He splashed some water on his face, grateful that Mrs. Little had been in before him to change out his washbasin, and put on a jacket more fitting for dinner. A thread had worked its way loose in the cuff, and he sighed. It seemed that all his plans to take things slow had backfired—he’d have to shop for new suits within the next little while, it seemed. One could only patch a suit so many times before there wasn’t much left to patch.

  When he entered the dining room, he found Pastor and Mrs. Osbourne already there, waiting for him.

  “I’m sorry to be late,” he said as he took his seat. “I’m afraid I was doing a bit of woolgathering.”

  “No doubt you needed a few minutes to settle your brain after all the things you’ve been doing today,” Mrs. Osbourne said good-naturedly. “Never apologize for seeing to your mental health, Pastor Norton. You’ll live a lot longer.”

  He smiled. “Thank you. Yes, it’s been an eventful day, but so interesting. We visited . . . how many homes?”

  “Eight,” Pastor Osbourne replied. “Good visits, all of them. Sadly, the chest cold is still making its rounds.”

  “I’m not happy about that,” Mrs. Osbourne said as Mrs. Little entered the room, a tray of plates in her hands. “The choir has to be in good shape for the Christmas services. What are we going to do if everyone’s home in bed?”

  “You could always sing a solo, my dear,” the pastor said, smiling.

  “Robert Osbourne, you know I couldn’t do any such thing,” she protested. “Do you know the uproar that would cause?” She turned to Richard. “I’m considered by some to be a very prideful woman, and if I performed a solo, that would just solidify it in the eyes of the congregation.”

  “Perhaps a trio, then,” the pastor suggested. “Aren’t there two others who could sing with you? Unfortunately, Miss Britt—er, now Mrs. Perry—is already singing at the Christmas party, and she can’t tax her voice for a second performance.”

  “I don’t know.” Mrs. Osbourne shook her head and contemplated her plate. “We’re just going to have to see, aren’t we?”

  “Speaking of the Christmas services,” Pastor Osbourne said. “Richard, when will you be ready to take the pulpit?”

  Richard swallowed the bite he’d taken. “Are you suggesting that I preach at Christmas? Wouldn’t they rather hear from you?”

  “Christmas Eve lands on Sunday this year, and we’ll hold regular church services on that day,” he explained. “Then we’ll do special services on Christmas itself. I’ll take the Christmas service if you’d like the one on Christmas Eve.”

  “And if you don’t feel ready, you can tell him no,” Mrs. Osbourne interjected. “You’ve only just gotten here. No one will bat an eyelash if you don’t take the pulpit for another week, or even two.”

  Richard took a sip of water, his throat suddenly dry. Mrs. Osbourne had given him a way to bow out gracefully, and he was sorely tempted to take it. However, that didn’t feel right. He was here to serve the people of this community, and part of that was to share his thoughts and feelings about the gospel from the pulpit. “I’ll do it,” he said, his voice feeling s
trangled. “I’ll preach on Sunday.”

  “Good man,” Pastor Osbourne said, thumping the table. “I knew you were up for the challenge.”

  His sudden exclamation must have startled the baby awake—a thin wail came up from the cradle in the corner of the room.

  “Celeste is excited for you too,” Mrs. Osbourne said as she rose from the table and scooped up the baby. “But maybe her daddy could be a little less enthusiastic.”

  “Sorry,” Pastor Osbourne said, looking sheepish. Richard expected him to return to his meal, but instead, he held out his arms, and Mrs. Osbourne placed Celeste in them.

  “Can you prepare a sermon so quickly?” Mrs. Osbourne asked, turning back to Richard. “I know it’s not an easy task.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Richard replied. “It might not be the most elevated sermon this church has ever seen, but it will be sincere.”

  “And that’s everything we hope for,” she said. “We’ve had some guest preachers come to town who were educated and eloquent, but who didn’t seem to feel what they were saying, and I have to say, I didn’t get much from them. Just show us your heart, Pastor Norton, and you’ll do beautifully.”

  The conversation turned to other topics, and Richard finished his dinner without tasting much of it. It looked good, but everything felt like sawdust in his mouth. Had he just agreed to give one of the most important sermons of the year? Why had he done that? Was he being prideful by thinking he could take it on? He didn’t think so—he wasn’t at all sure that he could take it on. It had been a moment of foolishness more likely than not, foolishness he was sure to regret.

  As he was excusing himself from the table, Mrs. Osbourne caught his eye. “He wouldn’t have asked you if he didn’t believe you could do it,” she said softly.

  Her quiet reassurance gave a moment’s peace to his soul. “Thank you,” he replied. “That means a lot to me.”

  Then he climbed the stairs to his room, wondering if he would be able to drum up that sort of confidence in himself.

  Chapter Four

  “I appreciate your coming,” Olivia Osbourne said as she met the waitresses at the door to the church. “As it turns out, it will just be us, so I’m glad four of you were able to be here.”

  Miranda, Emma, Millie, and Carrie followed Olivia down the aisle of the church to the closet tucked in behind the choir loft. “I wish we had more room for storage, but this church was built for simplicity.” Olivia handed out a stack of baskets, followed by another stack, and then some bags, and the girls scrambled to take everything she was giving them. “Spread those out on the pews,” Olivia said over her shoulder. “Those will be our worktables for now.”

  After a few minutes, all the baskets had been lined up on the first pew, with all the ribbons on the next row and the toys on the row after that. Pastor Osbourne pushed his way inside the building just then, his arms weighed down with the bulk of a wooden crate, and Richard was right behind him, another crate in his arms. Miranda’s heart gave an extra leap when she saw him, and she hoped nothing had changed in her expression.

  “We’ve brought the Christmas fruit,” Pastor Osbourne said. “Where would you like it?”

  “On the fourth pew,” Olivia said, pointing. “Maybe the toys should have gone on the second pew . . . now I’m all confused just when I was trying to get organized.”

  “We can walk back and forth a bit,” Emma told her. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

  “I suppose you’re right. I just hate it when I think I’m being smart, but it turns out that I’m wrong.”

  Pastor Osbourne and Richard both set their crates on the fourth bench, and then Richard turned to Miranda with a smile. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning.” She hoped he didn’t realize how awkward she felt. “How are you settling in?”

  “Very well. My room at the Osbournes’ is comfortable, and the housekeeper seems intent on fattening me up.”

  “Mrs. Little is very generous that way,” Miranda replied.

  “Oh, dear,” Olivia said, and everyone turned to look at her. “I forgot to pick up the cloves from the mercantile. You can’t have a spiced orange without cloves.”

  “I’ll go—” Pastor Osbourne began, but his wife spoke over him.

  “Richard? Miranda? Would you mind going? Not only do I need cloves, but I forgot the lemon drops.” She flashed them a bright smile, and Miranda had to grin at how quickly she’d fallen into calling Richard by his first name. Olivia sought to make everyone equals, and that was one of her most endearing traits.

  “Of course, Mrs. Osbourne.” Richard turned to Miranda. “Are you up for a walk? I’ve noticed that the pastor doesn’t seem to own a buggy.”

  “He does, but it’s only brought out rarely,” Miranda replied. “I’d enjoy taking a walk with you.” She ignored the snickers from her friends as she pulled her coat and gloves back on.

  The morning sun glinted off the snow and created tiny rainbows in the crystals on the surface. It was stunning, even if the nip in the air did make her nose feel like it had been tossed into the icy river.

  “I’m glad for this chance to talk with you,” Richard said as they began their walk toward the mercantile. “I couldn’t help but feel that something had gone wrong between us the last time we spoke.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean. I thought we’d had a very nice conversation,” she replied, not meeting his eyes.

  “I thought that too, but then something changed. Did I say something to offend you?”

  “Of course not. I don’t take offense that easily, and you’re not the sort to give it.”

  “Then what is it?” He reached out and caught her arm. At her sudden stop, her feet slipped out from under her, and before she knew it, she was in his arms, looking up at him.

  “Thank you,” she said after a moment’s pause, collecting her wits. She’d never been so close to him before, never felt his arms around her, and it was hard to concentrate on anything else. She took a step back, being sure to avoid that same ice patch. “You just saved me from an embarrassing tumble in the snow.”

  “And possibly a sprained ankle or wrist,” he added.

  “I thank you for that too. And for any other injuries I might have gotten. A banged-up knee, a concussion . . . I suppose leprosy wouldn’t be a possibility, but I’m glad I don’t have that either.”

  “Miranda.”

  She stopped talking and met his gaze. “Yes?”

  “What’s going on?”

  She pressed her lips together, then said, “Can we keep walking? It would be easier for me to say it if we weren’t looking at each other.”

  “It’s going to be one of those conversations, is it?”

  “Probably, although I don’t mean it to be.”

  They continued on their way, but at a much slower pace than they’d been using previously.

  “You talk so comfortably about religion, like it’s simple and easy,” Miranda began. “And you talk about Christmas like it’s the most joyous day of the whole year.”

  “Do you disagree?” Richard asked. “I thought those were rather common feelings.”

  “They are for a lot of people, but not for me.” She kicked at a clump of snow in her path. Rather than skittering off like a rock, it crumpled, and she stepped on the top of it as she passed. “You remember my mother, of course.”

  “Of course. After you left to serve dinner the other night, Parker told me that she passed away.”

  Miranda gave a sharp nod. “Not to mention that my father died a long time ago.”

  “Yes. Most tragically.”

  Miranda nodded again, but didn’t speak until they had crossed the street. “I was very young when my father died—I have only a few memories of him, but they’re all good ones. I remember Christmas that year in particular, when friends and family would ask me about my Christmas wish. All I wanted was my father back. Someone gave me a beautiful doll they’d sewn for me, and I got candy and drawing paper and
a book, but none of it meant anything to me. If I couldn’t have what I most wanted, what good was Christmas, anyway?”

  She realized she sounded like a petulant child, but he’d asked for her feelings, so she supposed she would be honest about them. “Years later—two years ago, actually—when my mother became ill, it was right before Christmas, and I decided to give it one more try. I poured out my heart and soul and begged God to send her healing. She passed away the day after Christmas, and all my praying was for nothing. It’s not real, Richard. It’s just a story parents tell their children—and I don’t really know why.”

  Richard didn’t reply for a moment, and she wondered if her honesty had proven to be too much for him. She had often been told that she ought to withhold some of her opinions if she wanted to win a beau, but she’d never wanted to pretend just for the sake of having an admirer. He wouldn’t be worth having if it meant making herself less.

  “I’m sorry you’ve been through all that,” he said at last. “I know it was painful for you.”

  “Yes, it was. First my father, and then my mother, and all the while, Parker was doing his best to support us and bring me up, but he was just a boy himself.” Miranda sighed. “I’m sure you’re thinking that I’ve grown up to be awfully bitter, and I’m sorry about that, but I’m just so filled with questions.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with asking questions, Miranda. That’s how we get answers.” Richard paused and stuck his hands in his pockets. He didn’t say anything for another long minute, but just stood and inhaled the frigid air that was becoming slightly less frigid as the sun warmed it. “Part of our biggest challenge in life is turning to God and not away from Him when the tough times come. It’s one of the hardest things we’ll ever do, but certainly the most rewarding.”