Brides of Iowa (49 page)

“God, it isn’t that I doubt Your sovereignty. I just can’t imagine how You can use somebody like me—somebody who looks like me.” He crossed the room and opened the window, pushing the curtain aside and taking a lungful of scented night air. The tree frogs and cicadas were in full voice, and the whippoorwills answered in harmony. It seemed every creature had a purpose—everyone but him.

F
amiliar chatter greeted Tillie like a welcoming hug the moment she opened the front door. Her sisters Regan and Fiona giggled while Phillip teased Grady about the frog the lad had carried home in his pocket. Ma sat in the rocker brushing Brenna’s hair, admonishing Grady to take the frog outside and threatening to take a switch to Phillip if he didn’t stop his endless teasing. Little Cory clamored for his share of attention while Da leaned back in his threadbare, overstuffed chair by the fireplace.

“Ah, and here’s our lovely Matilda, come to join the family chorus of all this heavenly music.” Da sent her a lopsided grin.

“Pfft! Music, he says.” Ma waved the hairbrush, gesturing to her noisy offspring. “The song of the angels in heaven surely must fall on the ears sweeter than this commotion.” She set the brush aside and nudged Brenna toward the ladder that led to the loft. “Off with you now. Go and put on your night-dress. Scoot.” She rose and pointed to Grady. “Take your little brother and help him wash his face and put on his nightshirt. Girls, stop that giggling, and finish up the dishes. Phillip, did you fill the woodbox?”

Phillip traded playful punches with Grady. “Yes’m.”

Tillie smiled at what Da deemed heavenly music and gave her mother a peck on the cheek. “Glad I wasn’t too late to take part in the concert.”

“Humph. The hen has ruffled feathers until her flock is grown.” Ma slid a sideways look in her direction. “I wish you didn’t have to work so late. You know I don’t like you walking home alone in the dark.” Without waiting for a reply, her mother shooed young Cory up the ladder to comply with her instructions and hurried Regan and Fiona through their task.

Tillie fetched the plate Ma always left in the warming oven for her and sniffed appreciatively at the rabbit stew. “I wasn’t alone. Everett Behr walked me home.”

The confusion of herding the youngsters to prepare for bed seemed to occupy her mother’s attention, but a swift glance at Da told her that he might have a few questions later about her escort. Her father’s deep green eyes fastened a silent inquiry on her as she ate her supper. A measure of comfort made her heart smile. Da’s protective watch-care over his brood was a sweet assurance she’d treasured from childhood.

The younger siblings, clad in nightclothes, descended the loft ladder and assembled on the floor around Da’s chair, tumbling over each other like tussling puppies. He opened the worn pages of the Bible and hooked his wire spectacles over his ears. Once the round lenses perched on his nose, he cleared his throat and began to read, capturing each child’s attention. Even little Cory, snuggled on Ma’s lap, hushed while Da read. Tillie memorized the picture, hoping to re-create the scene for herself one day.

Scriptures read and prayers said, Ma hustled the young ones up to the loft to tuck them in and distribute good-night kisses. Tillie slipped over and sat on the floor in front of her father, smiling at his upraised eyebrows. “What is it you want to know, Da?”

He blew out a breath through pursed lips. “Well now, girl, how is it you think I’m wantin’ to know somethin’?”

She couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across her face. “You’re wondering about Everett walking me home.”

Da lifted one shoulder in a noncommittal shrug, but the twinkle in his eyes gave him away. “I might be wonderin’ just a wee bit.” He cocked his head toward her and peered over the top of his spectacles. “Don’t mean to be stirrin’ the pot here, but is this the same Everett Behr who looked down his nose at you last year when he found out you worked in the hotel dinin’ room?”

Tillie watched the flames lick the logs in the fireplace, considering her answer. “No, Da, he’s not the same. I believe God has used the events of the past several months to change him. He has a humility he didn’t have before. But more than that, he reminds me of someone I admire and respect more than anyone on this earth.”

Da removed his spectacles and tucked them into his shirt pocket. “Respect isn’t somethin’ you want to give away freely, daughter. It has to be earned. You’d best be makin’ sure o’ that.”

Pride swelled in her chest. “Da, the person I admire and respect the most in this world is you. The way you love your family and work hard, your integrity and faith, are the things I love most about you. I hope to one day marry a man just like you.”

A tiny frown pinched Da’s brows as he looked away and sniffed. Raising his arm, he blotted his face on his sleeve before returning his gaze to his eldest. “Girl, you’ve kissed the blarney stone for certain.” He leaned close and whispered, “But sure and you know how to get to your old da’s heart.” He patted her hand. “So you’re sweet on this fellow, are you now?”

Tillie wrapped her arms around her knees and released a soft sigh. “I’m not quite sure yet if I’d call it that. When he first came to town last year, he was so handsome—I was just as smitten as every other girl in town. But now…”

“Now?” Da left the obvious unspoken. Everett was no longer handsome, at least in the eyes of some people.

She brushed a wisp of hair from her face. “I’m drawn for a different reason. A man who puts aside his own well-being and faces danger to save the lives of two people is a man with a depth of character that sets him apart. Handsomeness doesn’t seem so important anymore.” She paused, more to consider her own words than her father’s reaction. “It’s what’s inside that makes a man, and I want to get to know the man Everett Behr. I want to learn what kind of character moves a man to suffer what he did on behalf of someone else.”

She raised her eyes to the ceiling and listened to the soft murmur of good nights being exchanged overhead in the loft. “This evening as I was leaving work, I saw him walking alone. He always ducks his head, or turns away, or lifts his hand to cover his face when people are near. But as the sun set and the darkness came on, it seemed he didn’t feel the need to hide.”

Her father nodded. “I understand a wee bit about wantin’ to hide from the world.”

Gratified by her father’s insight, she went on. “I walked over and spoke to him, and it was as if he felt free to carry on a conversation, like the sun dropping below the horizon rendered him safe.” She shook her head slightly. “I wish he understood that his scars don’t matter to me.”

Da absently ran one finger along the jagged scar across his face. “You grew up lookin’ at my scar, daughter, so it’s normal for you. It’s not for Everett.” He rubbed his chin. “You know that story in Jeremiah where the prophet goes to the potter’s house and watches a clay pot bein’ formed on the wheel? There was somethin’ amiss in the clay, and the pot couldn’t be useful the way it was. So the potter made it over again. That’s what happened to me. I had somethin’ amiss in my life, and I broke. God had to reshape me. The scar is just a reminder that I never want to go back to that place o’ sin again. I’m thinkin’ maybe God has made Everett over again as well.” He reached out and cupped Tillie’s chin, his thumb caressing her cheek. “But give him time to settle into the new vessel God’s creatin’ of him.

“I’m thinkin’, too, that Everett wasn’t the only one refined by the fire. Seems I’ve seen a bit of a change in you, too, my darlin’.’ Tis difficult to put a wise head on young shoulders, but I’m noticin’ you’ve learned a deeper level o’ compassion. Instead of shuttin’ out the person who hurt you in the past, you’ve opened your heart, lettin’ God show His love and carin’ through you. It’s proud I am of you, girl.”

Tillie felt a blush rise at her father’s praise. “Everett said he liked walking in the evening, and when I mentioned maybe we’d see each other again out walking, he seemed pleased.” She leaned forward and looked fully into her father’s face. “Da, if it’s all right with you, I’d like to walk with Everett again some evening after work. He was so relaxed as we talked tonight, and I think it was because he didn’t feel like he had to hide his face.”

Da frowned, and at first Tillie thought he was going to forbid her to see Everett under the cloak of darkness. His eyes searched her face, and finally he laid his hand on her head. “Appearances are important, child. You must mind yourself that you don’t allow people to draw the wrong conclusion.” He studied her for a full minute before continuing. “I’m trustin’ the way I raised you, daughter. You’ve heard me say such before, and there’s no sense in boilin’ the cabbage twice. You use good sense, and guard your reputation.” A tiny smile tweaked his lips. “And whilst you’re at it, guard your heart as well. Your da doesn’t want to see you get hurt again.” He leaned forward and placed a kiss on her forehead.

Everett gave Gray a few strokes and a scratch behind the ear when the cat rubbed against his leg. “I know, old man—it’s almost time to close up and go home.” He glanced out the window of his office. The sun hung low in the western sky, almost touching the horizon. Perhaps another half hour until the shadows stretched into wide, sweeping cloaks. Anticipation tickled his stomach, and he purposefully disciplined his mind, returning his attention to the invoices on his desk. He flipped through a few of the papers and realized he had no idea what he’d just read.

Don’t be ridiculous!
Just because he happened to run into Tillie three times last week and twice already this week didn’t mean she’d be waiting for him at the creek this evening. Each time they’d strolled among the thickening shadows, their conversation flowed more freely. Talking to Tillie felt…right. Was it so wrong to look forward to being with her, talking with her? Was he foolish for harboring memories of each evening they’d walked together, like a schoolboy carving initials into a tree trunk?

He recalled the sound of her laughter, and he pushed away from the desk. Leaning back with his hands tucked behind his head, he closed his eyes and gave himself permission to dream. A smile twitched his lips as memories of his evening walks with Tillie traced soft images across his mind. He’d had friends in Baltimore, and he’d seen a few young ladies socially. But he couldn’t remember ever having a friend like Tillie. He had to admit she was more than just a friend. Sunset strolls with her at the end of the day eased his anxiety and melted away the apprehension he normally experienced with others. Tillie demonstrated no insincerity or charade, nor did she present any expectations. She encouraged him to speak his mind or sit by the creek in silence, to contemplate the intricacies of a clover blossom or count fireflies, to discuss last Sunday’s sermon or regale her with Gray’s hunting exploits.

The tiresome events among Baltimore’s society had demanded he always present himself with proper poise and dignity. Twilight conversation with Tillie often found them dangling bare feet in the creek. Why, just a few evenings ago, they’d sat at the water’s edge pitching pebbles into the current and singing “Rock of Ages,” laughing as they improvised the harmony. Wouldn’t the debutantes in Baltimore titter behind their hands at such a sight?

For all the pleasantness of being in her company, however, there remained the hard truth. Tillie might be a wonderful friend, but that was all she could ever be. If he were to be honest with himself, he’d have to acknowledge that he wished he and Tillie could be more. Much more. A lonely ache defined a desire for a deeper bond, but even as the idea flitted through his mind, he knew such closeness could never be realized.

He shook his head and pulled himself up to the desk. Pursuing a romantic relationship would only result in heartache for him and embarrassment for Tillie. It was her kindheartedness and generous nature that induced her to offer friendship. To expect anything more was selfish, and he’d not put her in the awkward position of having to refuse his request for courtship.

Another glance out the window told him the sun was almost gone. Gray followed Everett out the door of the depot but seemed to understand the honor of his presence was not requested as a chaperone. The feline sat and groomed himself on the boardwalk as Everett locked the door.

“I’ll see you later at home.” He bent to rub Gray’s head and headed off toward the creek, lending his voice to a hymn sung at last Sunday’s service.

“Be Thou my vision, O Lord of my heart, naught be all else to me, save that Thou art.” Not remembering the rest of the words, he continued humming as he strode along. When he turned the corner at the mill, the creek came into view. The breeze swayed the willow branches, allowing him a glimpse of Tillie’s blond hair catching the ebbing sunlight.

The hymn remained on his lips as he approached. He knew the moment she heard him humming, for she turned her head toward him and joined her pure soprano voice with his.

“Waking or sleeping, Thy presence my light.”

He stepped over to where she sat beside the creek. She’d already shed her shoes, and her toes played in the water. Out of habit, he took a position to her right, keeping his left profile toward her.