Rumors and Promises (6 page)

“Yes, he does. I’ll probably have to wrestle Philip down for the last piece.”

Only Esther’s pies rivaled Maggie’s. Though he had to give much, as a pastor, Ian received much in return. Even those who had little, like Esther, found ways to make him feel more at home, part of the church’s family.

“I must confess that Sophie actually used my recipe to make this pie, and she is learning quickly.”

“Ah, yes.” Ian took the basket from her and then gave her hand a squeeze. “And how are Sophie and her little sister doing?”

“I urged them to come with us, but last week Caira was feverish. Today, the older one didn’t feel well enough. I think maybe Sophie is a bit shy.” She shook her head. “You’d think a pretty young lady like that would want to get out and socialize. Oh well, I’ll keep trying.”

“I understand. Please give her my regards.”

Ian turned to the elderly gentleman with Esther. “It’s good to see you, Mr. Graemer. How are you today?” he shouted toward his good ear.

“Just fine, young man. These ears don’t work the way they used to. Being anywhere near the cannons at Gettysburg didn’t help.”

“I’m sure it didn’t, but we appreciate the contribution you made to the war effort.”

Mr. Graemer nodded back, but Ian was pretty sure he didn’t hear a thing.

He watched as the last of his congregation left him in the quietness of the sanctuary. Lifting the napkin covering the basket, Ian inhaled the scent of cinnamon and spied the flaky brown crust. To think that Sophie’s small, work-worn hands had fashioned the delectable pastry. Something about the fact pleased him. He couldn’t wait to taste a piece of the pie.

“Quiet today, wasn’t it?” Maggie interrupted his thoughts.

Ian stroked his chin. “Come to think of it, yes it was.”

“I’ll tell you why.” His sister adjusted her gloves. “Gertrude Wringer wasn’t here.”

The thought of the busybody with the shrill voice caused his neck muscles to contract in aching tightness. “But who else would run the Ladies’ Aid Society or be more respected by the women?” Ian tried his best to find something good in each one of his parishioners.

“You mean feared.” His sister’s eyes narrowed.

“Now, Maggie, that’s not very charitable.”

“But it is true.” His sister wore a smug grin. She turned on her heels. “Come along, Philip,” she called to her son, “it’s time to go home for dinner.”

That afternoon, he sat in the small study near the front of the house. He attempted concentrating on the book in front of him, a volume of essays. However, filled with Maggie’s dinner and pie from Fairgrave’s Boardinghouse, he was losing the battle with a full stomach and a warm fire. His eyelids drooped and bid him to nap. Perhaps if he walked around a bit outside, he would perk up.
Ian shrugged into his waistcoat and opened the door to a blast of frigid air. He paced the length of the front porch, exhaling wisps of steam. The white coating the ground lacked the luster and sparkle of a fresh snowfall.

The squeak of the opening door got his attention. Maggie poked her head out. “Come, have a cup of tea with me. And I’ve got some snicker doodles I baked yesterday.”

“You don’t have to bribe me, you know.”

“Well, I never knew a man who didn’t like cookies.” His sister stood with the door cracked open, looking rather hurt. She shrugged and put her hands in the air. “Besides, it’s lonely in here. Philip’s looking at books in his room.”

“That’s all you had to tell me.” Ian took Maggie’s arm and strolled into the dining room with her.

“Didn’t want to be a burden.” Her eyebrows furrowed.

“We may not see eye to eye on everything, but you’re more help to me than you could possibly know. I need someone trustworthy to keep house for me. And having my sister here keeps the gossipers at bay.”

“It doesn’t keep them from trying to match you up.” She brightened. “By the way, who were you looking for today?”

“What?” He looked straight into her eyes and lifted an eyebrow, purposely.

“Don’t be coy with me, little brother.” She looked down as she poured tea into the china cup in front of him. “I saw you searching that sanctuary and looking as forlorn as though you’d lost your best friend.”

Maggie held out the plate of fragrant golden cookies like it was some kind of peace offering. “Now, ’fess up.”

“No thank you.” He glanced at the sugar bowl as he took out a single cube. “To both.”

His sister sat there pouting.

“If you must know—”

“Yes?” She leaned toward the table and grinned.

He took a sip of the sweetened tea. “Young Sophie Biddle from the boardinghouse.” The hot liquid slid over his tongue and warmed his throat.

“Oh,” said Maggie, but it was a knowing, “oh.”

“That’s all? Have you heard anything more about her?” He pictured Sophie huddled by Neuburger’s stove and then covered in flour with Caira in her arms.

“Not much. Just heard that she and her sister appeared in town recently, poor as church mice. Sophie responded to Esther’s ‘help wanted’ ad. She had to be desperate to take what Esther could pay.” Maggie stirred her own tea and then took a dainty bite from a snicker doodle.

“I guess you don’t know any more than I do.” Ian sighed.

She swallowed. “The child looks so much like her. Everyone’s first guess is that Sophie is the baby’s mother.”

“My first assumption as well, but we have no reason to disbelieve her. Something unfortunate must have overcome her family. Miss Biddle seems well educated and genteel.” Ian tapped his fingers on the table. “We have an obligation to help such people. She’s trying to do her best, I’m sure.”

“Yes.” Maggie took her cup with both hands and blew into it before taking a sip. “You’re right. The gossips of the town always want to make more out of everything than is there.” The china cup clinked against its saucer. “You know I’ll do what I can to help her. She’s always welcome here.”

He nodded. “I knew I could count on you.”

After the evening service, when it had long since grown dark, Ian stood by the study window. Weariness pressed on his shoulders as he leaned against the sill and stared at the front yard. Clouds
blew overhead, and a sliver of moonlight shone on the blanket of crisp snow. Underneath, the world lay dormant and cold, as cold as the young Annie’s skin had become when they had pulled her from the depths of the swirling river.

Ian had tried to tell others that the young girl needed more help weeks before, but it had been too late. He shivered at the horrific memory. He swallowed the bile down like the day they had found her.

“You look tired.” Maggie turned the gaslight down and then touched his sleeve.

“I’m cold.” He rubbed his chin. “And exhausted.”

“Is that all? What are you thinking about?”

He looked her square in the eye and sighed. He couldn’t even form the words as distasteful as they were.

“Not that again, Ian. You’ve got to let it go.” She linked her hand with the crook of his arm.

“I could have done something about it, but I listened to people instead of God. And a young woman died because of it.” He patted the hand on his arm. “I don’t really expect you to understand.” He closed his eyes for a moment, but that only served to make the chilling image clearer—the bluish-white skin, so void of life.

“You shouldn’t blame yourself so much. Do you want to talk about it?”

“No!” He spun around and gripped her elbows until he saw fear in her eyes. “Don’t you understand? You can’t help.” The haunting thoughts wouldn’t let go.

“Ian, I-I only wanted to comfort you.”

Did he see pity in Maggie’s eyes? How little of a man must she think he was becoming?

“I’m so sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong.” He hugged Maggie tight and swallowed a sob, desperate to contain his emotions.

“I just hate to see you suffer like this,” she said, sniffling.

There could be little comfort when Ian knew he had failed God and a member of his flock, a precious lamb entrusted to his care. Was he even worthy of such a task?

“I guess I never really told you why I left that church to come here. I wanted to be in a smaller town like Stone Creek, to start over.” He paused. “And forget.” It wasn’t just another call. Ian also wanted to prove to himself that somehow he was truly capable of his charge.

“He that is in you is greater than he that is in the world.” Maggie pulled away but held each of his hands firmly in hers. “Little brother …” She stared up at him with tears rolling down her cheeks. “You’re already forgiven. Remember that.”

Ian’s jaw tightened. He could only force himself to nod. He knew in his heart that she spoke the truth, not chastising him as she often did, but with tenderness. When he managed to speak, all he could utter was, “Thank you.”

Perhaps he had let Annie down, but never again. Maybe it was why God had sent Sophie and Caira Biddle to Ian. After all, God had proven throughout scripture to be the God of second chances.

CHAPTER 3

W
hen Esther learned Sophie needed buttons a few days later, she gave her some from an old waistcoat of her dear departed husband. Sophie was grateful for a fine set of brass buttons to use, especially since they were for the Reverend McCormick. Now she could repay him more fully for his support. She polished the buttons until they shone and mended the rip with tiny even stitches, barely detectable to the naked eye. She was thankful that Esther had given her the afternoon off.

When finished, she pressed, folded, and then wrapped the garment in brown paper. Sophie’s fingers shook, frustrating her attempt to tie a string around the package. The thought of speaking with tall, handsome gentlemen, several years her senior, seemed to affect her that way… but Reverend McCormick seemed kind. He didn’t look or behave like the one who betrayed her. Was he truly worthy of her trust?