Rumors and Promises (17 page)

“May I be excused?” Philip wiped his mouth with a white linen napkin.

“You may.” Maggie nodded at her son.

Then she looked toward Ian with such coldness that he thought he might feel warmer if he stepped outside.

“Out with it, Maggie.”

“Hmm. Like you would listen to me anyway, little brother.”

Ian stirred a bit of sugar into his tea and leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs. He sipped the hot liquid, savoring its warmth as it glided over his tongue.

“What was going on between you and Sophie today?” Maggie asked.

The tea went the wrong way. Ian’s windpipe closed, and he choked. When he recovered he mumbled, “Nothing.”

“That’s just it. I don’t understand it.” She spoke in low tones through her teeth. Ian counted two spoonfuls of sugar that were mercilessly dumped into her tea. The noise of the spoon clanking against the side of her cup rang out in the dining room. The sip his perfectly elegant sister took sounded more like a slurp.

Ian leaned forward and placed his elbow on the table. He rested his chin in his hand and attempted not to spew tea when he coughed.

“What? Oh, go ahead and laugh at me. You always have found some incongruous humor at my fury.”

He measured her expression—the brows furrowed together, the mouth set defiantly. Ian knew he needed to tread with utmost care. “I’m not laughing this time, but I know your bark is worse than your bite, and I’m sure that whatever you have to say is in my best interest.” Well, at least she would think so.

Maggie’s expression softened. “I was positive that you two were smitten with one another.” She stirred her tea again and tapped the spoon on the lip of the cup then made a circle above it with the utensil. “There seemed to be something in the air. Though, how Caira and she could be so smitten with you, I don’t know.”

“Smitten?” He shifted in the hardback dining room chair.

“You’re either as hot as a flame in a coal stove or as cold as an icicle outside the window, Ian. It’s not the first time you’ve acted like that, but those two girls are different.” She paused, slurping her tea again, and banged the fragile cup on its saucer so that Ian feared it would shatter. “One minute, you’re trying to have her installed as the church pianist and next thing I know, hardly a word passes between you.”

“Well, it’s good to know I’m being watched like an errant toddler.” His sarcasm came out with a meaner edge than he had intended.

The hardness returned to Maggie’s face. “How dare you, Ian! You’re still my younger brother, and I’m concerned about you. You need a wife and a family—not an older sister nagging you. Do you think I enjoy this role?”

Ian sighed. “Are you trying to find a replacement to nag me?” He tried to soften his question with a grin and a softer tone this time.

Silence again enveloped the dining room for several minutes. Maggie folded the edges of her napkin. “Ian, let me try once more. What happened this afternoon?”

Ian rubbed the side of his face. What was his sister looking for? “I want to help them, but what kind of a pastor would I be to take advantage of a young girl romantically? We hardly … know her.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I want the congregation to trust me, Maggie. I need to keep everyone’s best interest at heart. Sophie and Caira need friends to lean on right now, without feeling we’re interfering. You’ve seen how independent she can be. Sophie’s not looking for a courtship right now.”

“Sophie would be good for you, Ian. She’s hard-working, responsible, obviously she’d be an asset to the ministry with her musical talent.”

“The Lord sent me here for a reason, Maggie. There are unwed mothers and orphans who need tending to. We can take care of them in this town. Once I have that in place, I can think about other things.”

Her eyes sparked as though ignited by a gaslight. “I saw Gertrude Wringer scolding you last weekend. If you’re truly worried about rumors, then get yourself a wife. You’re going to need someone to at least support you in your vision, if not share it. Don’t you think a houseful of girls they consider fallen women would make fodder for gossip for the entire ladies’ missionary society?”

Ian didn’t deny the accusations but stared at the amber liquid in his cup, almost the color of Sophie’s eyes. He didn’t usually have cream in his tea, but tonight he would try some. He poured a bit in and swirled whiteness into the brown liquid. He would do anything to avoid Maggie’s gaze at this moment. “I’m protecting Sophie. Gertrude will make sure that nothing nice is said about her.”

“I see.” When Ian looked up, Maggie’s eyes narrowed. “You’re still doing some kind of penance, aren’t you?”

“Penance? I don’t do penance.”

“Annie.”

That one name sliced through his heart and soul again. A pale, lifeless face rose in his mind. Would he ever be rid of this haunting memory?

“You would avoid the affections of a perfectly lovely young woman because of having to make up for some supposed failing?” Maggie sat a little straighter and pointed her spoon at him. “I haven’t seen her do anything unseemly. There’s quality there. You heard her play today, saw her patience with Elise. You’ve seen how she is trying to raise her little sister without any help. And she wouldn’t have asked for a thing from us.”

Ian sat with his chin resting on clasped hands. What could he say to a one-person judge and jury like his sister? All she said was true. But she couldn’t fully understand. In fact, Ian wasn’t sure he understood. He only knew that he felt there was something he needed to make right and there were people depending on him to lead the way.

His sister stood and began piling dirty dishes on a tray. She grabbed his unfinished tea. “What’s wrong with you? How can you risk losing her? I guarantee you. Someone will come along and snatch her up, and then how will you feel? Are you going to wait until you’re old and gray to take a bride? When you are too blind and feeble to enjoy the love of a good woman and dandling children on your knee?”

“That’s quite enough.” Ian rose to his feet and pushed the chair away from the table so that its legs squeaked across the floor. He tossed his napkin onto the tablecloth and stomped toward the back door. He slammed it behind him as he went out onto the stoop. He could bang things around, too, and see how she liked it.

Ian shoved his hands in his pockets and stood breathing hard with steam curling from his nostrils as though he were an angry stallion. Then he rubbed his hand along the side of his face.

How could Maggie understand his predicament? When Sophie had stood so near earlier in the day, he’d nearly forgotten propriety.

She’d obviously been upset, and he desired to comfort her, to hold her in his arms and plant a loving kiss on her lips. Yet he had no business, especially as a man of God, thinking those things about a girl he hardly knew.

How had this happened? Did he truly want to make up for his travesty of failing Annie? Had attraction always played a part? Was he capable of pure motives? A sweet young woman like Sophie deserved so much more. But when all was said and done, Ian was still very much a man.

He let the chilled air sweep over him, stinging his face and hands. When would he truly realize the forgiveness of Christ, who had borne all of his sins away already? Why did he try to punish himself when he knew the punishment had been taken for him?

CHAPTER 10

W
hen the church elders congregated early the following Thursday evening, the sun was heading downward toward the horizon. Its beams cast a strange glow through the colored glass windows. Ian had said it would be best for her to make an appearance, and Sophie found herself drawn to the meeting, she mused, like a “moth to a flame.” She clenched and unclenched her gloved hands, smoothing her skirt again and again. Having felt self-conscious with the lovely evening gown she had worn on Sunday morning, she had donned her other least threadbare outfit, attempting to look more businesslike and hoping the jacket didn’t seem too mismatched with the skirt. Sophie stood stiffly between Ian and the head elder, near the pulpit, wishing the meeting was already over. Only a few of the elders welcomed her with a smile. A couple of them refused to look her way and the other two frowned. Had they heard Mrs. Wringer’s lecture in the back of the church the other day?

The head of the board, Elisha Whitworth, opened with prayer, and then the board secretary read the minutes of the previous meeting. “As long as you’re here, Miss Biddle,” Elder Whitworth added, “we’d like to ask you a few questions.”

He introduced the other elders to her, which included a man by the name of Edmund Wringer. She assumed he was Gertrude’s husband. He attempted a superficial smile, covering a sad, weary expression. “Miss Biddle, what kind of training do you have?” He fiddled with his tie.

“Your wife put you up to that question, no doubt. Hearing Miss Biddle play was proof enough for me.” Dr. Moore, the town physician and the board secretary, crossed his arms and leaned back against the second-row pew.

“It’s all right.” Sophie clasped her gloved hands together, intertwining her fingers. “I began receiving private lessons at quite a young age, from a Miss McGillicutty. She’s gone now.” What could it hurt to tell the name of her teacher who had passed on?

A few eyebrows went up at the declaration of receiving “private lessons.”

“Well, that’s just fine, young lady,” Mr. Whitworth piped up, looking pleased.

Sophie only nodded. “It’s a shame that your family must have fallen on hard times,” another elder said.

Should she say anything? The truth was that they hadn’t fallen on hard times, but she had, on account of leaving them. The Bidershems had fractured and fallen away from one another.

“And you’ve played in other churches?” Mr. Wringer’s quiet voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you have references?”

“Just what are you implying about her past, Edmund?” Mr. Whitworth sounded very annoyed.

“I haven’t any with me, sir.” Sophie bowed her head. Disappointment caused a lump to lodge in her throat. Surely her time was almost complete in Stone Creek. She’d leave rather than be thrown out. It wouldn’t be long before they’d figure out the whole truth.

“Reverend, we’ve had enough interrogation. This wasn’t what I’d had in mind as far as asking questions. Her playing so far has been simply heavenly. I haven’t heard the congregation sing like that in a long time.” Elder Whitworth extended an arm in her direction.

“I second that.” Dr. Moore stood. “We couldn’t do better if an angel came to play the piano for us. Maybe we could get the choir back together now.”

“My thoughts exactly. If anything, I would like to hear your testimony, young lady.” Elder Whitworth’s smile invited her without censure.

“Well, I, um …” What could Sophie say truthfully without giving away too much?

She stood straighter and cleared her throat. “I grew up in a Protestant church and accepted Christ as my Savior when I was around six years old. There was an altar call one Sunday … the pastor had preached about how Jesus said that the little children should come to Him.”

“How much did you understand about sin? Did you repent?” Elder Wringer tapped his walking stick on the floor at the end of each question.

“Sir, of course, I understood what sin was, but I only needed to be sorry for such things as disobeying my mother or lying about whether I’d kicked my brother or stolen a cookie from the jar.” Sophie tried not to smile in spite of herself. Faith had been simple as a child, but the fact that she wasn’t forthcoming about her recent struggles made her stomach churn with guilt.