Tabitha: Bride of Missouri (American Mail-Order Bride 24) Page 9

  Tabitha rested her elbows on the counter and thought about it. “I don’t know. You’ve exhausted every possibility here in town?”

  “I have. You were my last remaining hope.”

  “Then I suppose you need to start looking in other towns. What about some of the other places where you’ve lived?”

  “I’ve thought about that, but none of the young ladies I met there seemed to be right either. If I’d had romantic feelings for any of them, I’m sure I would have noticed.”

  “I don’t know . . . I think you probably would have ignored those feelings altogether,” Tabitha lightly teased him. “You’ve become so used to thinking like a pastor, you’ve forgotten how to think like a man.”

  “And in most cases, that’s a very good thing,” he reminded her. He slid the letter across the counter. “Wish me luck.”

  “I do wish you every bit of luck. I hope you find her without too much difficulty.”

  “I hope she’s somewhere to be found. But there are more ladies back east than there are here, so I’m guessing my odds will go up.”

  “That’s very true.”

  The pastor took a step back as if to leave, but then paused. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about Thomas Scott. Did he happen to mention to you the nature of his injury or how long he’ll be in that cast? I wondered if there was anything I could do, but I hoped for more information before I approached him.”

  “He works at the lumber mill, and a log crushed his hand,” she replied. “He’ll be in the cast another three weeks or so.”

  “Thank you. I believe I’ll go pay a call—surely there’s some way I can be of help.”

  ***

  Tabitha asked Herbert to keep an eye on the post office while she pulled together a quick cold lunch of bread and sliced meat. They ate in silence, and Herbert didn’t even comment on Clara’s absence. Tabitha was grateful for that. The one lie she’d told him was more than enough for her.

  After he finished eating, Herbert went to rest for a while, and Tabitha finally had a moment to finish sorting the mail. Then Thomas came in, his usual grin on his face, and her entire day became better.

  “Hello,” he said, walking up to the counter. “Are you in the mood to write a letter?”

  “Of course I am.” She reached for a pen and paper, but hesitated as she had a sudden thought. “I’m curious, though. Why haven’t you written your parents about your accident? Surely they’d want to know.”

  “Well, that’s a good question.” Thomas studied the surface of the counter for a moment. “My mother would just worry, and my father . . . well, he never thought I had much of a future off the ranch. He’d take this as some sort of divine sign that I never should have left home. So I thought I’d write to them after the fact, after I’m all healed up so there isn’t as much to tell and there isn’t anything to worry about.”

  His smile had disappeared, and Tabitha sensed there was more to this story. “Is something else the matter?” she asked. “I don’t mean to pry. I just wondered if there was anything I could do.”

  He let out a long breath. “I haven’t been able to move my fingers.” He laid his arm on the counter, palm up. “See? I’m trying to wiggle them, but they aren’t responding. Dr. Gideon says it might get better over time, or perhaps it won’t. I don’t want to tell my parents until I know . . . until I know for sure.”

  Tabitha’s heart ached for this man. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have asked—you probably weren’t ready to talk about it.”

  “No, that’s all right. In fact, I’m glad you know. It helps lift the burden.” He blinked a couple of times and then smiled. “Now let’s write this letter, shall we? And stop being so gloomy. It’s just a hand. Maybe that’s why God gave us two—so we’d have a spare if something happened to the first one.”

  Tabitha laughed and picked up her pen.

  After Thomas left, Tabitha decided it was time to send Thomas another letter from Ivy. What should she say this time? She glanced at the calendar and counted back to see about when “Ivy” would have mailed it. Yes, school would have started—she could write about that.

  She pulled out another sheet of paper and had just started jotting down some notes when Darcy came wandering in. Oh, wonderful—just what Tabitha needed.

  “Well, hello there, Miss Atwater,” Darcy said, pulling off her gloves and setting them on the counter. Tabitha didn’t think it was cold enough outside to warrant gloves, but perhaps Darcy just wanted to show them off. They were trimmed with beaver, and very nice. “I understand you received your prize. A ham, was it?” She laughed. “That must have been a terrible disappointment.”

  “Not at all. I’m rather fond of ham.” Tabitha smiled. “In fact, we’re going to have it for Sunday dinner. Care to join us?”

  Darcy gave a delicate shudder. “No, thank you. Pigs are disgusting animals. I wouldn’t dream of eating one.”

  “Oh, don’t worry. We’ll wash off the mud before we eat it.”

  It was too much fun to watch Darcy’s reaction. Tabitha supposed she ought to behave herself.

  “What can I do for you today, Darcy?”

  “I need to mail a letter. I do believe that’s what one does in a post office, correct?”

  “Generally speaking. I do have a couple here for you as well.” Tabitha handed over the small stack, then put Darcy’s letter in the outgoing pile.

  “Thank you.” Darcy tucked everything into her reticule. “Now, I wonder if I should say something. I mean, I should, but I wonder if it would be unkind.”

  Tabitha knew Darcy was waiting for her to ask what she meant. She wasn’t going to do it. Instead, she waited, her hands folded on the counter. Finally, Darcy couldn’t hold it in.

  “I realize you’re a fine, upstanding citizen—I mean, you never would have been chosen as Miss Atwater otherwise—but you should know that there’s been some talk.”

  Tabitha’s mind immediately flew to Clara’s new job, and she felt sick inside. But then Darcy continued.

  “First, the pastor comes in to see you today, and then just a short time later, Mr. Scott? My, my, my. And this is after you were seen with both of them at the festival. I don’t mean to cause you any grief, but tongues will wag, as you know, and they’re wagging. If you’re going to juggle two men, you might be a little more discreet about it.”

  Tabitha nodded as though receiving great advice. “You’re right. That’s absolutely the case. And now you’ve come to see me. That’s rather scandalous—people might think you’re associating with a fallen woman. What would that do for your reputation?”

  “We’re not associating,” Darcy protested. “I’m mailing a letter.”

  “Which is exactly what the pastor and Mr. Scott were here to do. Honestly, Darcy, I have no idea what gets into you sometimes, and I have better things to do. Why don’t you take your letters home and read them? That would be a much more pleasant way to spend your day than visiting with me, I’m sure.”

  Darcy’s eyes narrowed. “Are you asking me to leave? Are you throwing me out of the post office?”

  “No, not at all. I’m merely making a suggestion that is designed for your own best happiness.” Tabitha smiled, although it was rather difficult to do so.

  “Very well. I’ll go. I just thought you’d like to know what people are saying.”

  “If I ever want to know what people are saying, I’ll ask Mrs. Smith. Until I hear it from her, I don’t give it any heed—I only take my gossip from the best source. Have a good day, Darcy.”

  Once she was alone again, Tabitha sank against the counter. Darcy had been against her from the very first moment she’d come to Atwater at the age of ten, and she couldn’t imagine why. She supposed that every town had at least one girl like Darcy—jealous, petty, unhappy. She’d mentioned it to the girls at the mill once, and several of them said they knew exactly what she meant—they had Darcys in their lives too. What would drive someone to be so mean to other people? A
nd why was it so common? She smiled as she remembered the look on Darcy’s face when she talked about mud. Yes, that had been fun.

  ***

  “Hello the house!”

  Thomas looked up at the greeting and saw Pastor Reed riding toward him. He set down the piece of wood he was measuring, wiped his hand on his trousers, and walked out to meet the pastor.

  “I’ve come to pay a call, if you don’t mind. You look rather busy—am I interrupting?”

  “No, I’ve done about all I can until my friend gets here.”

  The pastor put his hands on his hips and looked over the frame lying on the ground. “I’m pretty fair with a hammer and saw. Mind if I pitch in?”

  Thomas hadn’t figured the pastor for a carpenter, but he wouldn’t turn down the offer. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

  He explained what they were doing, and the pastor immediately set to work preparing the second frame to match the first. Thomas would never admit as much to Hoss, but Pastor Reed was the quickest worker Thomas had ever seen.

  “How’d you enjoy church on Sunday?” the pastor asked after he’d driven the first nail.

  “To be honest, I usually struggle to pay attention during sermons, but I liked yours quite a bit. Charity is a good topic.” Thomas paused and grinned. “And now here you are, practicing what you preach.”

  The pastor smiled in return. “Wouldn’t do any good to preach it if I wasn’t ready to live it. Where’s the next piece of wood?”

  By the time Hoss showed up, the two other men had already put together half the frame. “Well, looks like I’m not needed after all,” Hoss said, making as though to leave.

  “Hold on there,” Thomas said, grabbing his friend by the suspender straps. “You promised you’d help.”

  “Yes, but that was before you brought in the professional here.” He thumbed over his shoulder.

  Pastor Reed laughed. “I’m anything but a professional. I’ve just had a lot of experience. Come on—if we all work together, we can get this done and the next started before nightfall.”

  As they worked, Pastor Reed asked Hoss a series of questions. At first, Thomas thought he was just being polite, but then he noticed that the pastor was actually feeling Hoss out for where he stood on the topic of religion. He smiled, but didn’t comment. Apparently, a pastor could take off his hat, roll up his sleeves, and pick up a hammer, but he’d still be a pastor through and through.

  ***

  The next morning when Thomas walked outside, he saw a stack of new wood sitting by his front door. He looked left and right, but he didn’t see anyone, and he didn’t hear the sound of a wagon or horses. Whoever had brought this must have done it in the dead of night, with the quietest wagon ever invented. There was no note, no bill—nothing to indicate where it had come from. It must have been a gift, although he wished he knew who it was from so he could thank them. A gardening shed wasn’t a necessity, and to someone else, it might seem like a small thing, but to him, it meant a great deal. It was more to offer Ivy, and it was something that made him feel useful.

  Without even realizing what he was doing, he tried again to twitch his fingers. When the results were the same as always, he pushed his disappointment to the back of his mind. He had other things to think about today.

  ***

  “Look what I have!” Tabitha called out when he entered the post office that afternoon. “It’s another letter from Ivy!”

  He didn’t bother to go out on the porch this time. Instead, he pinned the envelope down on the counter with his cast and ripped it open with his other hand. He knew it must look awkward to Tabitha, but she never said anything or offered to help. He was glad about that—he wanted to do as much for himself as he could.

  Dear Thomas,

  I’m keeping my promise and writing more frequently. I hope you’re proud of me. School has begun, and all the things that go with it. Yesterday, Billy put a frog on Mary’s seat. It created quite a scene, and it took an hour to catch the frog and deliver it back outside. It was impossible to teach after that, so I let the children go home early. Tomorrow had better be more productive.

  I’ve decided that my yellow dress simply won’t do for school—there’s just something about it that makes me feel confined. I received some wonderful advice from my favorite store clerk, who suggested a different fabric. I’ll be much happier, I’m sure.

  I realized after I sent the last letter that I never said anything about a wedding date or when I’m planning to come to Atwater. I’m afraid I really am committed here at the school until after the holidays, so January would be the very earliest. If they haven’t found a replacement for me by then, it might be a bit later. I hope that’s all right. I can’t leave the children without a teacher.

  I do hope you’re well and that you’re taking care of my little house. I’ll write again soon.

  Thomas felt a stab of disappointment. She wasn’t coming until January? And maybe not even then? He’d known when she first contacted him that she was a schoolteacher, but he hadn’t realized she had made such a binding prior commitment. If she was that settled in Dover, why had she decided to become a mail-order bride?

  “Is something the matter, Thomas?”

  He glanced up at Tabitha’s question. “No. Yes. Well, I’m not exactly sure. She says she’s not coming until January.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad.”

  “Yes, it is.” Thomas folded the letter up, but couldn’t get it back in the envelope, so he just tucked it in his pocket and threw the envelope in the small waste basket in the corner. “However, this gives me time to finish the shed and maybe even draw up some plans for a larger front room.”

  Tabitha smiled, and for the first time, he noticed a small dimple in her cheek. “That’s one thing I admire about you. You’re always looking for the positive.”

  “I wouldn’t say that. You have no idea how disappointed I am right now.”

  “But that’s just it. I have no idea because you’re showing me the good that can come out of this. With an attitude like that, you’ll go a long way.”

  “I hope so.” He paused. “Do you know where the pastor lives?”

  “Yes, he’s in the small yellow house right next to the church. That’s where the town pastor always lives—the house gets passed down along with the pulpit.”

  “Thanks. I’ll see you later, Tabitha. And thanks for your friendship. It means a lot to me.”

  She seemed to be blinking back tears. “It means a lot to me too.”

  ***

  Thomas saw Pastor Reed sitting on his porch, reading his Bible, and had to chuckle. It was so . . . pastor-like.

  The man looked up as Thomas approached. “You seem to be in a good mood, Mr. Scott.”

  Thomas kept chuckling as he shook his head. “You’re creating quite the picture here. Pious man studying the Word in the afternoon sunshine.”

  Pastor Reed laughed. “It’s a nice reminder for anyone passing by. What can I do for you?”

  “I believe you’ve already done it.”

  “Oh? Please explain. And have a seat.”

  Thomas took the vacant rocking chair and stared out onto the street. “A nice stack of wood was delivered to my house at some point during the night. I’d say it’s just the right amount to finish the project I’ve started.”

  “Is that so?”

  “It is. Now, isn’t that just the most remarkable coincidence? I get a visit from the pastor, and the very next morning, I have exactly what I need.”

  “It’s quite a miracle, I’d say.”

  Thomas turned and looked at the pastor’s smiling face. “Thank you. It means a lot to me.”

  “What makes you think I had anything to do with it? There are many good people here in Atwater, Mr. Scott. Any one of them could have done it.”

  “But would they have known how much wood I needed, or what type? I don’t think so.”

  The pastor shrugged. “I don’t have that kind of budget. The church’s fu
nds are quite limited, you know.”

  “Well, if you didn’t pay for it, you know who did, and I’m still grateful.”

  Pastor Reed rocked back and forth a few times. “There are angels who walk among us, sometimes in human form, to minister to the needs of man. Sometimes those angels really are mortals who are moved upon by the mind and will of God to do something kind. All that’s asked of you is that someday, when you see a fellow being in need, you return the favor you received.”

  “I will. You have my word on it.” Thomas reached out with his left hand to seal the bargain, and with a smile, Pastor Reed shook it.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Tabitha!”

  She jolted awake at the voice that called her name. “Yes?”

  “Hurry! Get the doctor!”

  There was nothing but panic in Clara’s tone. Tabitha threw back her blankets and grabbed her shoes, then put on her heavy robe. She didn’t care that she was still in her nightdress—it was long and thick. She ran down the stairs and out the door, wishing for the first time that they had a horse. The town was small enough that she generally walked everywhere she needed to go, but now she was in a hurry, and a horse would be a blessing.

  By the time she reached the doctor’s house, she was completely out of breath, and her hand was numb as she pounded on the door. He opened it a moment later, his hair wild from sleep. “Miss Phillips! What’s the matter?”

  “Herbert,” she gasped, and he nodded.

  “Come inside and get warm. My wife will make you a pot of tea. Now, don’t argue—you simply must warm up.”

  She allowed him to lead her to the fireplace, where the flames had been banked for the night, but it still emitted a nice glow. She held up her hands to the heat and felt the chill slowly thaw away.

  “You poor thing,” Mrs. Gideon said, bustling in with a tray. “Drink up now.”

  “I need to get back,” Tabitha said. “I’ve already been gone too long.”

  “The doctor left right after asking me to make the tea, dear, and he gave me instructions not to let you leave until your cheeks were the right color. I’d say we still have a few minutes to go.” Mrs. Gideon poured her a cup, then generously added sugar and cream.