The Bride's Prerogative (47 page)

Hiram’s face froze. “She didn’t say that.”

“What
did
she say? Some babble about how I’d ought to respect her pa’s money. Do you think she wants me to take on shopping for a new team for him? Because I told him I don’t have time to go to the horse auction in Boise.”

“That’s … not the impression I got.” Hiram hesitated. “I can’t say for certain, but it sounds to me like she thinks one of us ought to marry her.”

Griffin’s hand went slack, and the hammer clattered to the floor. “Ow!” He grabbed the toe of his boot and hopped about the smithy on one foot. When he at last stood still again and gingerly tested his weight on his injured foot, Hiram’s face had gone all sad, the way he’d looked most of the time since Violet died.

“Griff?”

“Yeah?”

“Seems to me there’s an awful lot of nuptial thinking going on in this town.”

Griffin gulped. “You think she was serious? Maybe we ought to do something about it.”

“Like what?”

“Maybe ask the sheriff to put a moratorium on weddings?” Hiram frowned. “Ethan can’t do that.”

“Well then, the preacher maybe?”

CHAPTER 17

L
ibby knocked on the door of the small house and looked around appreciatively. Lilies bloomed below the front windows, and the fresh white paint on the board siding made the dwelling stand out from the weather-beaten gray buildings on either side.

The Bentons had come to town less than a year ago, but they’d made a lot of improvements in the little rental. The pastor had purchased paint, nails, and various other items at the emporium, and Libby wondered if the landlord—Cyrus Fennel—had reimbursed the couple for enhancing his property. She also wondered if he’d followed through on his original promise to let them buy the house if they wanted to, after the six months’ free rent he’d grudgingly given them had expired. On the Reverend Mr. Benton’s small salary, she doubted they could afford it. Perhaps she should bring the matter up at the next town council meeting.

Bitsy cleared her throat, and Libby glanced over at her. Her companion eyed the door through narrowed eyes and twisted the chain handle of her mesh reticule between her hands.

Before Libby could assure her there was no need for nervousness, Apphia opened the door, her face glowing with pleasure.

“Ladies! Do come in. I’m so happy to see you both.”

“I hope we’re not interrupting your supper,” Libby said.

“Not at all. We just finished. Are you here to consult my husband or to visit with me?”

Bitsy jerked her shoulders back and shot a panicky glance at Libby.

“You, please,” Libby said, and Bitsy huffed out a quiet sigh.

“Delightful. Won’t you come and sit in the parlor?”

Libby stood aside, beckoning for Bitsy to precede her. Her friend hesitated then mounted the steps and followed Apphia, pulling her shawl across the deep neckline of her bright yellow satin dress. Libby came last, closing the door.

The tiny house had no entry hall, and the front door opened on what the hostess had so glibly called a parlor. The cramped room held two chairs and a cushioned bench, a small table bearing a kerosene lamp, and a bookshelf consisting of rough boards stacked on large tin cans painted a jaunty red. Two potted plants and a framed miniature sat atop the shelves, and one wall held a sampler portraying a cross wreathed in roses and silk-floss letters, reading: B
UT MY
G
OD SHALL SUPPLY ALL YOUR NEED ACCORDING TO HIS RICHES IN GLORY BY
C
HRIST
J
ESUS.—PHILIPPIANS
4:19.

Mr. Benton peered in a doorway at the back, which Libby knew from previous visits led to the kitchen.

“Good evening, ladies.”

“Hello, Pastor.”

“May I serve you three ladies something?”

“No, thank you,” Libby said quickly, and Bitsy shook her head, not meeting the preacher’s gaze.

“That’s kind of you, Phineas, but we seem to be content.” Apphia nodded to her husband with a smile, and he withdrew. “Please sit down.” She indicated the two chairs and took a seat on the bench.

“I do hope we’re not intruding,” Libby said.

Bitsy seemed more on edge than before. She wriggled in her chair, arranging her skirt and shawl to expose as little of her flesh as possible.

“Not at all. I didn’t get a chance to congratulate you this afternoon on your fine shooting,” Apphia said to Bitsy. “Earning the ‘personal best’ ribbon is an honor.”

“It surely is.” Bitsy touched the bit of sky blue ribbon pinned to her bodice. “I think I hold this more valuable than my onyx eardrops.”

“The shooting club has helped us all to grow inwardly, I think.”

Libby nodded, and silence descended on them. Apphia obviously waited for a cue from her as to the nature of their visit. The pastor’s wife wouldn’t want to make presumptions, yet she mustn’t enjoy seeing Bitsy so uncomfortable in the parsonage.

“Bitsy and I were talking today, and she had some questions that I couldn’t answer concerning spiritual matters. Do you mind if we present her inquiries to you?”

“Of course not—unless you’d prefer to speak to Mr. Benton. He is much more knowledgeable than I am.”

Bitsy’s eyes darted toward the door. Perspiration beaded on her powdered brow.

“I think we’d prefer you for this errand,” Libby said.

“Of course.” Apphia waited, an expectant smile hovering at her lips. “Bitsy, let me say again how glad I am to have you here.”

“Oh, I …” Bitsy cleared her throat and studied the crocheted doily beneath the lamp. Libby wondered how many invitations from Apphia the saloon owner had turned down in the past year. But she was here now, and that was what counted.

“Bitsy is very interested in the scriptures, and more pointedly, the matter of salvation.”

Bitsy drew in a deep breath. “I’m convinced now that God can save me. Didn’t know for sure, but Libby’s shown me lots of places in the Bible where it says He can.”

“Oh yes, most assuredly He can,” Apphia said.

After a quick nod, Bitsy plunged on. “Well, here’s the thing. If I got saved, would God make me close the saloon?”

Apphia blinked twice. “To be honest, I’m not sure. But I believe the Lord
is
going to save you, my dear, and I also believe that if you come to Him, you’ll want to do whatever will please Him.”

Libby let out a pent-up breath. She’d known there was a better answer than her poor brain had come up with.

“But how will I know what He expects me to do?” Bitsy leaned forward in her earnestness, letting the edges of her shawl slip.

“He makes that very clear in His Word.” Apphia reached to the bookcase and took out a black-covered Bible. “Let me show you some verses.”

Libby watched quietly as Apphia turned to Acts 16:31.

“‘Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved.’ “

“Hmm.” Bitsy bit her bottom lip. “I thought He expected us to do good deeds.”

“That comes after,” Apphia said. “If you believe Jesus died to pay for your sins, you’ll want to do things that please Him. But that’s not what will save you and get you into heaven.”

Bitsy frowned. “Funny. I always heard that it did. When someone died, folks would say, ‘He’s surely in heaven, he was such a good person.’ But you’re telling me different.”

Apphia smiled. “If there’s one thing I want you to understand, Bitsy, it’s that all the good deeds in the world won’t amount to a thing if you don’t trust in Jesus. The first and most important thing is that you believe on Him. Doing good doesn’t save you. But after you are saved, you will want to do good to please Him.”

Bitsy’s frown deepened, and she shook her head. “See, that’s what I was afraid of. If I listen to this, I’ll have to change my entire life and start being good.”

Libby smiled involuntarily. “Bitsy, you already do good deeds. I don’t know many people as generous as you.”

“But my business. How would I live?” Bitsy shook her head. “I’ll have to give it some thought.”

Apphia said gently, “If God is calling you, then you won’t be able to resist. But you needn’t be afraid. He wants only what is good for you.”

“That’s what Augie says.”

Apphia said nothing but shot a surprised look Libby’s way. “Let me share another scripture with you. It tells a little bit of what God expects from us after we believe in Him.”

“Yes, I’d like to hear that.” Bitsy settled back and waited while Apphia turned the pages.

“Here. This is in Micah 6:8. ‘He hath shewed thee, O man, what is good; and what doth the Lord require of thee, but to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God?’ You see? God wants us to walk with Him. He wants us to do kindnesses to others and to be merciful.”

“I expect I could work on it,” Bitsy said doubtfully.

“That’s one of the best parts,” Libby told her. “God will help you know what’s right through reading the Bible. And He’ll give you the strength to do it.”

“That’s right.” Apphia began turning pages again.

At that moment, male voices could be heard outside the front door, and a firm knock resounded throughout the house.

“Excuse me.” Apphia laid her Bible aside and hopped up to answer it.

“Hello, ma’am.” Griffin Bane’s deep voice was filled with humility. “We’re sorry to disturb you this evening, but Mr. Dooley and I wondered if we could have a word with the parson. If he’s not too busy, that is.”

At the mention of Hiram’s name, Libby tuned her ears to the conversation. She leaned over to try to get a look, but Griffin’s large figure completely cut off her view of anyone accompanying him.

“Certainly, Mr. Bane. Won’t you both go on through to the kitchen? I believe my husband is out there studying his sermon.”

“Oh, we don’t want to bother him,” Griffin said.

“It’s no trouble. He’s here to serve you in any way he can.” Apphia stood back, and he ducked and entered the room, which seemed instantly to grow smaller.

As Griffin cleared the doorway, Hiram appeared behind him, hat in hand. Standing next to the huge smith, Hiram looked almost scrawny, though Libby knew he was several inches taller than she was. Her past surreptitious scrutiny had told her he didn’t want for muscles, though he didn’t have Griffin’s brawn. Griffin looked toward the women and hesitated.

“I’m entertaining a couple of my dearest friends,” Apphia said.

“Good evening, ladies,” said Griffin.

To Libby’s surprise, Hiram spoke. “Nice to see you, Bitsy. Libby.” His gaze lingered on her, and Libby felt her cheeks color. “How do you do, gentlemen?” she asked. “Howdy,” said Bitsy at the same time. “We’re good.” Griffin looked expectantly at Apphia. “Right this way,” she said.

Mr. Benton came to the kitchen doorway. “Well, look who’s here. I thought I heard more company. Gentlemen, will you join me for some coffee?”

“Thank you, sir,” Hiram said.

“Since you two are having some, why not?” Griffin’s loud voice echoed off the walls and low ceiling.

The three men shuffled into the kitchen. Apphia waited until all were well out of the parlor then shut the door between the rooms.

“There, now. This seems to be a busy place tonight.”

“I ought to get going,” Bitsy said. “Thursday nights can get busy. You just never know. But …” She looked wistfully to Apphia. “I hope we can talk about this again sometime.”

“Of course we can,” Apphia said. “Come anytime. If you have mornings free, drop by whenever it suits you. I’m usually here.”

Bitsy nodded soberly and stood. “Thank you. I need to think some on what you told me. And … could you write down those scriptures you read? I think Augie could find them in his Bible for me. I mean, all Bibles are the same, aren’t they?”

Libby’s heart bubbled with joy as she watched Apphia write the references for Bitsy on a scrap of paper. They had made it to the door and were saying their good-byes to Mrs. Benton when the parson emerged from the kitchen.

“Ladies! I’m glad I caught you.”

Libby turned toward him, curious about why he had detained them.

“My two guests just departed out the back door,” the pastor said, “but they came to me on an odd errand. I wondered, Mrs. Adams, if you could possibly shed any light on it.”

“If I’m able, I’ll be most willing.”

“Mr. Bane told me a strange tale.” He eyed Libby and Bitsy sternly. “Now, this is not for distribution. I’m sure you understand that we must keep it confidential. But since you ladies are friends of Isabel Fennel’s—”

“Isabel’s?” Bitsy jerked her chin back. “They came to discuss Isabel with you?”

“Er … well, it’s a delicate matter.” Phineas Benton glanced uncertainly at his wife.

“I’m sure these ladies will practice utmost discretion,” Apphia said.

“Yes. Well, it seems Miss Fennel entered the smithy earlier this evening in high dudgeon and let loose at Mr. Bane. Something about Mr. Dooley not wanting to get married again. Mr. Dooley overheard it all, and both men were puzzled by what she meant. Remembering that the shooting club met late this afternoon, I wondered if perhaps an incident had occurred during that meeting which upset Miss Fennel.”

“Hiram getting married?” Bitsy scowled. “First I heard of it.”

“That’s just it,” said the pastor. “He didn’t know about it either. I … understand Miss Fennel wasn’t completely intelligible. Something about Mr. Fennel’s financial situation as well, but the one thing that stood out to both men was that she clearly said Mr. Dooley didn’t want to get married, and that Mr. Bane ought to do something about it.”