Brides of Iowa (52 page)

The tolling of the church bell reached his ears. Before the final clang died away, Everett was down the back stairs and cutting through the alley. When he rounded the cedars at the edge of the churchyard, a few stragglers were still entering the church. Everett lingered behind the screen provided by the thick evergreens. There were no shadows, the sun remaining hidden behind a bank of heavy gray clouds.

The sound of hymn singing floated on the air. Despite the gloomy day, hearts and voices were raised in worship. The thought bolstered his courage, and he straightened his shoulders, lifted his chin, and strode toward the church.

He slipped in during the last verse of “Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing.” “
Here’s my heart, Lord; take and seal it. Seal it for Thy courts above
.” The praise ringing within the walls of the church covered the sound of the door closing. He took his usual place at the back.

The hymn ended, and the congregation was seated—all except one small boy on the second pew from the rear who seemed determined to stand up on the bench despite his mother’s efforts to tug him down on the seat. Finally the lad gave in to her admonitions and plopped down on the pew.

Pastor Witherspoon stepped into the pulpit. “Let’s open our Bibles this morning and look at Paul’s letter to the Colossians,
chapter 3
.” The rustle of pages whispered across the room as folks found the text and settled in to listen to the preaching.

Before the pastor could begin reading, however, the little boy near the back stood up once again on the pew and turned, making faces at the people behind him. When the child’s eyes locked with Everett’s, the boy’s stare widened. He pointed at Everett and yelled, “Mama! Look at that man! What’s wrong with him?”

Nearly every head in the room turned, and all eyes followed the direction the lad pointed. Nausea twisted in Everett’s gut, and his face flamed. Jerking his left hand up to cover his face, he ducked his head and leaped to his feet, his Bible falling on the floor. Two long strides took him from the bench to the door, where he yanked on the door handle and fled, leaving the gawkers behind.

The ache in Tillie’s chest prevented her from hearing most of what Pastor Witherspoon preached. Her heart ricocheted back and forth between anger at the child and at his mother for not keeping him under control, and grief for Everett. What kind of humiliation tormented him? Of course children said unkind things. She’d witnessed that earlier in the summer when the three youngsters from town mocked Everett in front of the freight depot. Oh, how she wished she could make him understand his scars didn’t determine what kind of man he was, nor did they dampen her admiration of him.

She tried to discipline her mind to focus attention on the preacher but continually had to pull her thoughts back to the sermon. Finally, she gave up and closed her eyes, asking God what He might have her do. Should she go and find Everett and try to comfort him? That might make him assume that she pitied him. She’d seen firsthand how destructive pity could be, and she didn’t wish that on Everett. No, her goal, with God’s help, was to break down the wall he’d erected around himself and encourage him to seek God’s will for his life. She spent the remainder of the service in prayer.

The last hymn was sung, the final prayer offered, and the service dismissed. As Tillie fell into line with her family, filing toward the door, she caught sight of Everett’s Bible. Someone had picked it up and laid it on the bench. Her hand hesitated only a moment before reaching for the book and tucking it into her shawl.

As she stepped to the open doorway, she scanned the churchyard even before she shook hands with the preacher. No sign of Everett. He might have simply gone home. Hubert and Pearl Behr stood in the middle of the yard, their searching eyes covering a wide circle. Tillie imagined they, too, hurt for Everett.

Da and Ma herded her siblings toward their wagon as a soft rumble of distant thunder rolled across the hills. She hurried to close the distance between her father and herself. When he turned to look at her, she saw the same anguish in his eyes that she felt in her heart. He seemed to read her mind.

“’Twas a hard thing for young Behr. But daughter, he’s goin’ to hear such for the rest of his life. Either he learns to push it aside, or it’ll do him in.”

Tillie gave a slow nod. If anyone understood, Da did. “I don’t pity him, Da, if that’s what you’re thinking. He must allow God to help him overcome the feelings of shame and embarrassment. I just want to let him know I still think he’s a fine man.”

Da’s eyebrows arched, and he tilted his head up to look at the thick clouds roiling in the sky. Another gentle rumble of thunder sounded as if to punctuate his point. “And you feel the need to let him know that today, do you now?”

She saw him peek at her from the corner of his eye. He winked, and she threw her arms around his neck. “Yes, Da, I do. I don’t know for certain where he is, but I suspect he might have gone down to the creek.”

Da helped little Cory into the back of the wagon and latched the tailgate before turning back to Tillie. “And how do you plan to stay dry?”

She looked down at her shoe tips and gave a slight shake of her head before raising her head to give him a beseeching look. “Dry doesn’t seem very important right now, Da.”

He rolled his eyes heavenward. “I must be daft. I wonder if the good Lord gave my portion of common sense to somebody else. Go ahead. Find your young man.”

Tillie didn’t wait for him to change his mind, or for Ma to protest. She pulled her shawl snugly around her shoulders and scurried in the direction of the creek. Most of the other wagons had already departed, no doubt trying to beat the rain.

In the minute it took for her to run down the well-worn path to the willow trees lining the creek, a few sprinkles began to fall. Puffing from exertion, Tillie pushed the willow withes aside, her eyes searching through the gloomy shadows for Everett’s familiar silhouette. Perhaps he had more good sense than she and had headed for home.

She hiked up the creek bank, retracing her steps. Did she dare go knock on his door? That would certainly set the town tongues to wagging, and Da had admonished her about protecting her reputation. She blew out a huff through pursed lips. Just as she reached the edge of the churchyard once again, she caught a glimpse of movement beyond the cedar trees.

It’s Everett.

Not knowing why, she stepped back, letting the cedar boughs conceal her as she watched to see where he’d go. He looked from left to right, apparently to satisfy himself that he was alone, and reentered the church. Indecision anchored Tillie in place. She longed to speak with him, but judging by his furtive glancing around the yard, he preferred solitude. An argument ensued within her. Should she leave him be or go reassure him? She didn’t want him to feel abandoned, but she didn’t want to intrude either.

“If I go in and sit with him, even if I don’t say a word, at least he’ll know I care.”

Another rumble of thunder, this one a bit louder and longer, growled across the clouds. A soft, steady rain began, and she hastened her steps across the yard. The thought occurred to her that perhaps he merely came back for his Bible. Glancing to make certain the book was protected from the rain by her shawl, she climbed the stairs and slipped in the door as the patter of rain increased.

There, at the front of the little sanctuary, Everett knelt. Her eyes traced the back of his head, bowed in prayer. How silly of her to think he’d feel abandoned.
He isn’t alone. A child of God is never alone.
As she stood there, the words of his prayer reached her ears, and she felt like an interloper.

“I don’t understand why You allowed me to live through that fire, God. Sometimes I think I’d rather be dead than look like this.”

Tillie’s throat tightened, and she put her hand over her mouth.

“But I know You don’t make mistakes, so You must have a reason for these scars. I just wish I knew what that reason was.”

Tillie laid his Bible on the back bench and started to leave, but the moment she shifted her weight, the floorboard under her foot gave a tiny squeak. She froze. If she moved, he’d know she’d been standing there eavesdropping. Holding her breath lest he hear that, too, she waited for the next roll of thunder and winced under an onslaught of guilt for listening to Everett pray.

“God, I’m tired of running and hiding, but the ugliness won’t let me rest. I want to do something—be something—for You, but how can You use a broken vessel like me? Nobody wants to look at a man with a deformed face.”

Tillie heard his voice grow tighter and more intense with each word.

“I keep telling myself it doesn’t matter what other people think. It doesn’t matter to You, God, but it does to me. I know it shouldn’t, but it does. God, please—please make something beautiful of my life.”

Everett’s prayer stole Tillie’s breath. She tightened her hand covering her mouth in an effort to prevent a sob from escaping. Even the years of watching people act repelled by her father’s scars didn’t prepare her for such a heartrending entreaty. Her eyes burned with unshed tears.

A flash of lightning lit the darkened interior of the church, followed seconds later by a booming crash of thunder. The noise echoed long enough for her to exit without being heard.

“Something beautiful.”
His plea blew softly across her heart, mournful yet hopeful. She pulled her shawl up over her head and ran down the road, releasing the tears she’d held in check until now. When she passed the bend in the road and was quite sure Everett couldn’t see her, she slowed her pace and plodded through the rain. Everett’s heart-wrenching words echoed through her mind.

“I don’t understand why You allowed me to live through that fire, God. Sometimes I think I’d rather be dead than look like this.
”

An unseen hand squeezed her heart. Tears continued to burn her eyes. “Please, God, let Everett hear Your voice. Fill him with an awareness of Your presence so he understands that his usefulness to You depends on his heart, not his appearance.”

Tangled emotions stirred her stomach into turmoil as the rain dripped off the ends of her shawl, and the leaden sky wept in one accord with her.

T
illie asked the two other women in the hotel kitchen to cover for her while she ran an errand. A twinge of guilt poked her as she scurried down the street toward the freight depot. It wasn’t truly an errand, but her mission held an urgency that had kept her tossing and turning for the past three nights. If she hoped to get any sleep tonight, she’d best meet the situation head-on. Both determination and trepidation roiled in her stomach as she forced her feet to slow and walk sedately.

She paused a moment in front of the newspaper office, glancing at her reflection in the window. A few stray strands of hair had escaped their pins, and she tucked them back into place. With a rush of heat to her face, she hoped no one inside the office was watching her primp. Her gaze darted back and forth, and relief filled her when she saw the office seemed to be empty.

Just inside the window, a large calendar hung on the wall. Big black
X
s marked the passing of the days. Today’s date, Thursday, the seventeenth of September, had yet to be marked off. Tillie took that as an encouragement—there was still time today to accomplish something significant. A tremor ran through her stomach as she considered her errand. She could still change her mind and return to the hotel. Momentary indecision held her in place.

Everett wasn’t a coward—his heroic actions the day of the boardinghouse fire already proved that. Asking her if he could escort her to the harvest picnic and barn dance would take courage—he’d have to put aside his aversion to being seen in public. But how long should she wait for him to gather that courage?

She sucked in a fortifying breath. Her intentions might not be considered proper, especially back east where Everett came from, but if she let many more days pass without her planned discussion with him, her only opportunity might slip through her fingers. Resolve straightened her shoulders, and she continued down the boardwalk. The small sign on the door of the freight office declared the business open. She stepped inside, but instead of encountering Everett, Ben stood at the front counter. The moment he saw her, he swept his hat off.

“Miss Tillie.” Ben’s lopsided smile accentuated his deep brown eyes. He ran his hand over his head, smoothing out unruly hair the same color as a wheat field ripe for harvest. “It’s sure nice to see you in the middle of the week instead of just on Sunday.” He dusted off his shirt and wiped his hands on the seat of his pants.

A bit of the determination that had propelled her down the boardwalk seeped out of her. “H–hello, Ben.”

Ben hung his hat on a nail stuck in the wall behind him. “It’s been kind of hard to talk to you at church, Miss Tillie. You’re always hurrying off somewhere.” He shuffled his boot against the corner of the counter. “I’d like to talk to you, if you have a minute.”

Tillie clasped her hands tightly in front of her waist. She hated to admit it, but she hadn’t given Ben much of a chance for fellowshipping either before or after church. He always seemed to be standing there in the churchyard, waiting to help her down from her family’s wagon on Sunday mornings. In her haste today, she’d not stopped to think that she’d likely run into Ben at the depot. Now he stood before her waiting for a reply.