Authors: Judith Pella
She’d be a biddy whether she liked it or not. There wasn’t much more for women to do around here, so if she didn’t join them, she’d be all alone, probably even more bored than she was when sewing. Even the women who didn’t sew, few though they might be, were sitting on the quilts chatting with the others. None of them would ever consider playing horseshoes with the men.
With a resigned sigh Maggie threaded her needle, though not successfully on the first or even third try. Then she stuck the needle into the fabric.
“Ouch!” Before her first stitch she had impaled her finger. Quickly she stuck it into her mouth so no blood would get on her mother’s precious fabric.
After that Maggie concentrated so hard on her stitches she couldn’t participate in any of the gossip had she wanted to. Glancing over at Ellie, Maggie saw her sister chatting with Mary Renolds while her fingers deftly sewed together her hexagons, the ones she’d been working on for ages.
“Now, you know, Ellie,” Mrs. Renolds was saying, “when you get your twelve tops done, we will have a quilting party, and everyone can help you get them quilted. That’s what we used to do when I was a girl.”
“That will be fun,” Ellie replied, “but before you do that, I have to be engaged.”
“That won’t be long.” Mrs. Renolds smiled knowingly. Then she turned to Maggie. “How about you, dearie? How close are you to having twelve complete tops? I know not many girls hold to the old traditions these days, but I am so pleased your mother is passing this one down to her daughters.”
For the first time Maggie was embarrassed at her dismal sewing abilities. “I don’t have twelve yet,” she said truly enough. She didn’t have twelve; she didn’t have one—not one quilt top finished. Now that she thought of it, even she was astounded, considering all the years she’d had to do the task. Mama had made her start on two or three, but the minute she stopped nagging, Maggie laid them aside. Eventually Mama gave up, no doubt just growing weary with it. Every once in a while she would get Maggie to sew something but never enough to complete a project.
Maggie remembered William’s kiss. Could they be married one day soon? And her without a single quilt except for the quilt Mama had made her? She had to change her ways. As if to mock her resolve, she poked her finger again with the needle.
She cursed just as William had earlier, and Mama scolded her soundly. When she finally finished her portion of the Flying Geese pattern, it was lopsided, and some of the stitches were bunched up on one side. She handed it to her mother, who looked at it with pursed lips then quickly put it on the bottom of the pile, probably so none of the other ladies would see it, not that they didn’t already know about Maggie’s work. Bless Mama, she wasn’t going to further embarrass Maggie by saying anything right here.L ater, Mama would rip out Maggie’s stitches and do it over.
As everyone was readying to leave the picnic, Ellie got up her nerve to approach Reverend L ocklin. She didn’t know why it was so hard, but every time she was around him he managed to embarrass her, even if it wasn’t on purpose. She’d been thinking for a long time about starting a Sunday school for the children and wanted to discuss the matter with him. I t infuriated her that the romantic notions in the air were interfering with spiritual matters. She strode up to him now, trying not to care what others might think. Much to her relief, he said he’d drop by her house on Monday and they would talk more about it.
The next day she couldn’t believe how much she was anticipating his arrival. She’d made her grandma’s special shortcake recipe and gotten out Mama’s good china tea things. Most important of all, she’d made sure Maggie was gone. She’d asked Mama to send her to helpL ouise Arlington, who now had two sick children and hadn’t been able to finish putting in her garden.
Ellie wasn’t certain why she wanted Maggie away. She didn’t care that Maggie had set her cap for the minister. It was just that . . . Ellie shrugged. She didn’t know. Maggie was just a distraction, and Ellie wanted to discuss serious matters with the minister.
Reverend Locklin showed up promptly at two in the afternoon as invited. Ellie received him in the parlor. He was dressed in his broadcloth suit, which she thought odd because she never saw him in that suit except on Sundays. He was also carrying a bouquet of flowers.
Suddenly Ellie worried he had gotten the wrong idea about this invitation.
Handing her the flowers, he said, “Mrs. Copeland allowed me to pick these for you . . . er . . . your family.”
They were bright pink rhododendron blossoms, one purple iris, and some pale yellow daffodils.
“That must be the last of her daffodils,” Ellie said. “It was kind of her to send them.”
“She’s a dear and generous lady,” he replied.
Mama put her head into the parlor. “I just wanted to say hello, Reverend, before I scoot to the garden to weed a bit.”
“Mama, look at the lovely flowers Reverend Locklin brought us!”
“How thoughtful!”
“It was Mrs. Copeland’s idea,” the reverend said humbly. “But you have all been so kind to me that I wanted to bring something.”
“Anything we do for you, Reverend, gives us great joy,” said Mama. “Now, you two children have a nice time. Ellie, the tea water has boiled and is ready to go into the pot.”
Ellie thanked her mother and also silently thanked her for vacating to the garden during Locklin’s visit. She was grateful yet unsettled, as well.I t was almost as if he were paying court. Now Ellie worried that everyone had the wrong idea! But this was about Sunday school and nothing else.
When her mother had departed, Ellie bid the reverend to sit. He sat at one end of the divan, her mother’s pride and joy, covered in the best brocaded verona that could be found in the Montgomery Ward catalog. Ellie could have taken the matching chair adjacent, but since the pastor was at the end of the divan farthest from the chair, conversation would have been awkward. She thought she had no choice but to sit on the other end of the sofa.
He smiled as she sat, and she thought she detected a hint of mockery in his expression, as if he’d perceived her awkwardness and was enjoying it. She hugged the opposite arm of the divan, thinking the two feet separating them wasn’t enough.
Infusing her voice with an impersonal, businesslike tone, she said, “I know you are very busy, so I will get right to the reason for this meeting.”
“Did your mother mention something about tea? I am so parched.”
He smiled again, and she found herself growing irritated. That was mockery in his smile. She was sure of it!
She wanted to put him off but could not bring herself to be so impolite. Without another word, she rose and exited the parlor.I n the kitchen she took a breath. Why did she feel as though she were stepping off a cliff? Why was her heart racing? Why had she built up this visit so? Why was her hand trembling as she lifted the kettle from the stove?
She had no answers but knew she couldn’t go back to the parlor feeling so discombobulated. He’d see right through it, and whereas you’d expect a man of God to show compassion for someone experiencing nerves, she sensed this man would relish it. Taking another breath she filled the teapot on the tray she’d arranged earlier with the other tea things. She fussed with the tray, rearranged the slices of shortcake, checked the sugar bowl to make sure there was enough, though unnecessarily since she’d looked at it earlier.
At last, feeling more composed, she picked up the tray and returned to the parlor.
“You have gone to so much trouble,” he said.
Again, she examined his tone but could detect nothing but politeness in it.
“No trouble at all,” she said, though it was obvious the opposite was indeed true. At least her hand was steady now as she picked up the pot and filled both cups. “I hope it is strong enough.”
“Perfect,” he replied.
“Cream or sugar?”
“Neither, thank you,” he said and lifted the cup to his lips.
She watched with a kind of morbid fascination, and when she realized she was staring, her cheeks flamed. He’d done it again, embarrassed her without even trying!
“Ellie?”
His tone was so gentle there was no way she could accuse him of mockery.
“Is everything all right?”
“The steam,” she said, her voice an octave too high. “The warmth, you know, made me feel a bit flushed.”
“Is that so?” He arched a brow. “I think I have inadvertently upset you.”
“No . . . no . . . it’s just . . . nothing, really.”
“If you don’t tell me what I’ve’ve done,I won’t know how to prevent it in the future.”
“You’ve done nothing, Reverend L ocklin.” That was truer than she wanted to admit. He’d done nothing but exist. Apparently that was enough to turn her into a fool. Then something else occurred to her, and she decided to grasp at it. “I was wondering, Reverend, why you wore your suit.I hadn’t expected this to be a formal visit.” But the tea service mocked her words without his skeptical look.
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure what to expect. Besides, I did look upon this visit as somewhat special. You see, tomorrow I will begin working at the mill, and then such visits,I’m’m afraid, will be quite limited.I wanted to make the most of it, I suppose.”
“Oh.” Somehow this relieved her, though it still did not account for her own behavior.
“Mr. Parker recommended me.I ’ll work there three days a week except for the week I go to Deer I sland and Columbia City. What with my pastoral visitations, preparing my sermon, and other ministerial duties that might crop up, my time will be very limited.”
“I must say, I commend your industry.”
“I must begin planning for my future.”
The word
future
sent a little thrill through Ellie. Reverend Locklin’s future had been at the forefront of everyone’s thoughts before he’d even set foot in Maintown. Every girl in town was very concerned with the state of his future. And before she’d met him, his future had mattered very much to her, as well. Not anymore. His future belonged to Mabel or Maggie, or to some girl none of them knew. But not to Ellie.
Why, then, had her heart started racing once again?
“Shall we discuss the Sunday school, then?” she asked abruptly.
He blinked, obviously taken aback by the sudden shift in the conversation. “Yes, let’s do so.”
At first Zack had been quite amused by Ellie’s nervousness.
She’d been like a frightened deer caught in the crosshairs of a rifle. He liked it when her poise failed her, not because he was a sadist of some sort but because she was so much more real then. She was the person she was meant to be, not the finishing-school replica she aspired to be.
Why he, of all people, should appreciate genuineness in a person was a question that defied an answer.
In any case, he was sure that was why he found ways to catch her off guard, to shake her little world of manners and decorum.
Thus the beginning of this visit had greatly amused him. However, it had taken a startling turn the moment he had uttered the word
future
. Why had he done it? Perhaps he’d thought it would shake her up again. But he hadn’t expected the effect it would have on him.I t simply was not his way to look too far into the future, certainly not beyond his next scheme.
Yet when he’d said it just now, he’d momentarily forgotten who he was. He’d spoken as a young man looking toward accumulating a nest egg with an eye toward matrimony. He’d said it as William L ocklin would have said it. I t was too easy to forget who he really was when he was with Ellie Newcomb.
“Sunday school,” he murmured.
“What?”
He raised his voice. “Sunday school. You wanted to talk about starting a Sunday school.”
“I did.”
“So, then . . . ?” he prompted.
“One moment,” she said, rising. “I forgot something.”
She left the parlor. Zack watched as she gracefully strode away. Her silky yellow hair fell loosely to the middle of her back, its waves swaying with her movements. He felt his throat constrict. He wanted to run after her and bury his face in that silky mass. She made him forget who he was, but he didn’t think the good reverend would be feeling this way about one of his parishioners.
She returned with some papers in her hand. “I wrote to the American Sunday School Union for information about starting a Sunday school, and they sent me these.” This time she sat in the chair.
“You’ve been thinking of this for some time, then?” Was he a little disappointed that she hadn’t concocted this matter just as an excuse to spend time with him?
“I’ve been wanting to do this since I returned home from school. But when Reverend McFarland passed away, my father thought I should wait to pursue it until we had a new pastor.” She held out the papers, but the distance between them made it awkward for him to see them.
The gentlemanly thing would have been for Zack to move to the other end of the sofa nearest the chair. And he would have, but he hesitated just a moment too long, and in that time, she had moved back to the sofa. Well, that was the more practical seating arrangement if they both needed to look at the papers.
“Ah . . . these . . .” she said, indicating the papers, “are what they sent me. They are outlines of a couple of curriculums they offer.”
He stared at the papers, but they were a blur as he caught a whiff of her fragrance. He hadn’t noticed it before.I t wasn’t really perfume but rather something subtler, as if the bouquet of flowers he had just given her had sprinkled its sweet, slightly wild scent about her.
You are Zack Hartley, he told himself. You don’t want to get mixed up with a farm girl. You don’t want to get mixed up with any woman. They are trouble for you. If they aren’t deceiving you, then they are trying to harness you. You don’t need that.
“What do you think, Reverend?” she was saying.
“I think . . .” he stopped, forgetting what he was expected to say. All he could think of was the fragrance coming from her hair and how he wanted to touch that hair.
Before he knew it, the small space between them had disappeared, his lips were touching hers, and his hand was pressing against the silky bouquet that was her hair. She made no resistance. Vaguely he heard the Sunday school papers flutter to the floor.