The Matrimony Plan (14 page)

When the initial threat of removal from the pastorate had evaporated, Gabriel thought he was secure. He’d expected quibbling and even criticism but not an emergency meeting to fire him. What had he done to rile Mrs. Kensington? She didn’t like him. That much had been evident, but he attributed that to her designs to match Felicity with Blevins.

He stepped off the path and headed through the woods toward parsonage land. A familiar sound slowed his steps.

Clink. Clink. Rustle. Clink.

Gabriel stopped, peering into the blackness, ears pricked to catch the sound again.

Clink.
There it was, to his right.
Clink. Rustle
.

And was that a murmur? If he wasn’t mistaken, the sounds were coming from the direction of the old root cellar. The bootleggers had returned to remove their stash of whiskey.

Gabriel crept through the woods, moving from tree to tree one step at a time to ensure he didn’t snap a twig. He held his breath as he drew near.

Yes, someone was moving around in the darkness, in fact, more than one person, but Gabriel couldn’t spot a cart or pile of liquor cases in the blackness. If only that cloud would pass, the moonlight would reveal everything.

“What’s the count?” said a low voice Gabriel didn’t recognize.

“Twenty cases,” answered a muffled voice that had to come from inside the root cellar. “But what’s this? Anyone know what this is doing down here?”

At that moment, the moon finally edged from behind the cloud, and Gabriel saw the tattered satchel being lifted from the cellar.

A man straightened. “Yeah, I do.”

Gabriel froze. What was Robert Blevins doing there? He was a prominent engineer from New York. Yet there he was with the bootleggers. Suppose the engineering had just been an excuse to bring him to town? Suppose he wasn’t really an engineer but was a key cog in the liquor-smuggling ring? Gabriel had never liked the man. Something was false about him. Furthermore, he’d hurt Felicity. Gabriel should have wrung the man’s neck when he had the chance.

A broad, shorter man stepped in front of Gabriel, blocking his view of the criminal. In the moonlight, Gabriel could see a rifle slung across the man’s back, a rifle that looked all too familiar. The man inspected the satchel and then tossed it back into the cellar. “We’ve been found out, boys. Game’s over.”

Gabriel’s stomach knotted tighter than a trolley screeching to a halt. He recognized that voice—Branford Kensington, Felicity’s father. His suspicions had just been confirmed, but what was he going to do about it?

The cellar door closed with a thud. The men were moving off toward town, leaving the liquor behind. In moments, they’d be gone, but what could he, a single unarmed man,
do to stop them? Kensington would shoot him on the spot. The man was a crack shot. He’d downed African game. He’d shoot first and call it a hunting accident afterward. No, Gabriel needed help before he acted.

He pressed his back to the tree, careful not to make a sound. Only after the woods returned to their usual quiet did he start for home.

Last time they’d moved the liquor into town during a new moon. If they followed the same pattern, the next opportunity would come in a week and a half. Between now and then, he needed to come up with a plan to trap the bootleggers and prove to the sheriff that trouble was afoot in Pearlman.

Then he’d have to figure out a way to tell Felicity her father was a criminal.

A
week later, after the distribution had been fully advertised, the committee was ready to take applications. Felicity waited in the front pew while Daddy showed Hendrick Simmons and Gabriel where to set the massive oak table. After several misplacements, Daddy settled on a spot directly before the altar. From there, the committee could oversee everyone.

Hendrick placed three chairs behind the table, looking up after each one as if searching for someone in the gathering crowd. Gabriel ushered applicants into the pews, managing to calm nerves and lighten spirits at the same time. He was everything Felicity could want in a man. The sweetness of his kiss lingered even now. She closed her eyes and imagined exchanging vows. He’d slide the wedding band on her finger and seal their bond with a kiss.

“Let’s sit here,” said Anna Simmons.

The voice jerked Felicity from her dream. Anna and her mother had settled directly across the aisle from her. Anna Simmons wore her Sunday best and had swept up her hair and secured it with a satin ribbon. Felicity worried the clasp of her handbag. What if Gabriel’s kiss had been in haste? What if he really liked Anna?

“Let’s get this show underway,” Daddy bellowed and waved Felicity forward.

She dragged her attention back to business and ascended the steps to the table. Turning, she saw that half the town had gathered in the sanctuary. She had no idea so many people would want to help the children. Surely, they couldn’t all be applicants.

Gabriel pulled out the center chair for her, but Daddy directed her to the right and took the middle seat for himself. Felicity silently apologized, but Gabriel didn’t nod that he understood.

After the blessing, Daddy pushed a stack of forms and pencils toward her. “Hand each applicant one form and one pencil. Make sure you number the forms. The pastor and I’ll handle the tough stuff.”

“I can handle difficult questions,” she insisted, but Daddy was talking to Gabriel and didn’t hear her. She could do more than hand out forms. Gabriel believed she could accomplish anything, even veterinary college. She tapped her father’s shoulder and spoke louder. “I thought each of us was supposed to give a recommendation.”

“Eh, what’s that?” It took a second for her words to sink in, then, with a paternal smile, he patted her hand. “Don’t worry your pretty little head. We’ll handle everything.”

“But I intend to give my opinion. It’s my responsibility.”

“Yes, it is,” Gabriel interjected. “No applicant will be accepted without the approval of the whole committee.”

“There you have it,” Daddy said, as if he hadn’t just stated the exact opposite. “Straight from the horse’s mouth.”

With a rap of his knuckles, he called the assembly to order. “People, line up down the center aisle, husband and wife together. If you’re here on your own, you can sign for your spouse, but we’ll need to see both of you at the distribution.”

After a period of loud shuffling and chatter, Daddy rapped on the table again. “Quiet down, people. Time’s a-wasting, and we’ve got a lot of business to get through. Come forward one family at a time and pick up your application from my Felicity. Any questions go to Pastor Meeks or me. When you’ve filled out the application, give it to the pastor for verification. We’ll announce our decision Thursday morning.”

“When do the orphans arrive?” asked Mrs. Grattan, who’d managed to be first in line.

Mrs. Grattan wanted a child? Why? They already had four daughters and a son. Mr. Grattan’s dairy might need extra labor, but the orphans weren’t hired hands. They were to be loved and raised as family members.

“They arrive on the Wednesday afternoon train,” Gabriel said calmly. “You may meet them here at four-thirty. After the children leave, the applicants will have an opportunity to indicate their preference.”

In a few short days, five lives would change forever. Felicity assessed the applicants in line, judging who would make good parents. For each, she asked if she would like to live with the family. Many failed the most basic criteria. Why, Cora Williams wasn’t even married. What could she know about children?

For the next hour, Felicity handed out application forms and explained what was needed. She didn’t have time to think about Gabriel or the kiss or a future with him when faced with the more pressing business of finding good homes for the children.

Of course, Blake and Beatrice would be wonderful parents, but they didn’t apply. The Sheas would be good but stern parents, and Mrs. Simmons was such a dear soul, but the Simmonses lacked income. Others had known deficiencies like a tendency toward drink or violence. Some let their
own children run ragged at all hours of the night. Her hope of finding all five children a good home wore thin by the time the line ended.

When the applicants returned their completed forms, Daddy chatted with them while Gabriel verified that every item was filled in. She handed out the sheet of paper listing the terms of placement and answered questions about the foster parents’ duties, but her heart ached for the poor children. She could recommend a couple homes but not five. What would happen to those not placed?

Between inquiries, she watched Gabriel with each set of parents. They’d approach nervous or fearful, and before long, they’d be smiling and confident. He had a way with people, the perfect pastor.

Someone approached her, and she blindly held out the terms of placement, unwilling to draw her attention from Gabriel.

“I don’t want them rules. I wanna apply.”

Felicity gasped. Before her stood Mr. Coughlin, rough and unshaven. She fought a wave of revulsion. Mr. Coughlin with a helpless child? Never. She struggled to find the right words to dismiss him. “I’m sorry,” she said with her mother’s stern tone, “we’re no longer taking applications.”

His eyes narrowed. “You saying I cain’t apply?”

“That’s precisely what I’m saying.”

“You cain’t deny me my rights as a law-abiding citizen.”

Felicity didn’t have a chance to answer. Daddy snagged an application from her stack and handed it to Coughlin. “Here you go, Einer.”

Felicity stared at her father and then looked to Gabriel, who was too busy talking to Mrs. Simmons to notice her plea for help. “I thought the application phase was over.”

“Hand him a pencil, Felicity,” Daddy warned.

“But, Daddy—”

“A pencil.” That tone meant her father would tolerate no arguments.

But why would Daddy support Einer Coughlin? The man was abusive. His wife had died suddenly, and his son had run away. Everyone knew he was trouble. He couldn’t be given one of those poor orphans. Her stomach twisted and snapped like a flag in the wind.

She tried to catch Gabriel’s attention, but he was busy verifying an application. Coughlin sat in the front pew and began filling out the form. Somehow this injustice had to be stopped.

“Daddy, it’s not right.”

“Everyone may apply, little one,” Daddy said.

“Even horrible parents?” she snapped, cheeks ablaze with fury. Honestly, when her father acted so unconscionably, she didn’t know how she could be related to him.

“Felicity,” he growled, “be charitable.”

Charity was all well and good, but precious lives rested in her hands. She glanced again at the stack of applications Gabriel had taken. There must be twenty-five or more—and only five children. The odds of Coughlin getting a child were slim. With her disapproval, those odds dropped to zero. Gabriel said the whole committee must approve an applicant. Well, she’d refuse, and that would be the end of Mr. Coughlin’s application.

After the last application had been handed in, including Mr. Coughlin’s, Daddy rapped on the table again, hushing the remaining crowd. “That’s it, people. See you here Wednesday, four-thirty sharp.”

Once the crowds left, Felicity, Gabriel and Daddy reviewed the applications. Seven were eliminated right away by mutual agreement. Gabriel laid the remaining twenty-one applications on the table in front of them, one of them Coughlin’s. Daddy refused to reject it.

Felicity chafed to remove the Grattans and Mr. Coughlin from consideration, and she hoped Gabriel felt the same way.

“We are looking for good Christian homes,” Gabriel reiterated, probably for Daddy’s sake, “preferably those who have had prior experience with children or who still have children at home. Consider the way they raised their children, the education and compassion they’ve shown them.”

“And two parents,” Felicity added. “The children deserve a home with both a mother and a father.”

“No one’s denying that, little one,” Daddy said, “but a good home with one parent is better than no home at all. I say we consider all options.”

Felicity fumed. Why was he standing up for that rotten man? “I’m sure Gabriel—er, the pastor—agrees with me.” She shot him a hopeful glance.

“Two parents are ideal.”

She’d won. It was two against one. Mr. Coughlin was out. She removed his application from the twenty-one still under consideration. “That rules out Mr. Coughlin.”

Daddy pulled the application from her hand. “Not so fast. Coughlin has had a hard go of it. He could use help on his farm.”

“Help?” She choked. “We’re not giving out help. This is about raising a child properly, about love and a good home. I don’t think—”

He cut her off. “Don’t think.” He patted her hand. “Let us handle everything.”

Felicity was so angry she couldn’t spit out a single word. Daddy blurted out insensitive comments all the time, but she was no fool. She had a fully functioning mind.

Daddy toyed with his gold watch fob, oblivious to her fury. “In some cases, we need to be lenient. Einer Coughlin deserves our compassion after losing his wife so tragically
and having his son run off.” He leaned toward Gabriel. “Typhoid fever. Drove the poor woman mad. Then his son left for California.” He shook his head. “The poor man’s gone through a lot and deserves a second chance. Don’t you agree, Pastor?”

“T-t-t—” Felicity spluttered, unable to get that single word past her rage. Typhoid? Cora Williams said Maddy Coughlin took strychnine. In Felicity’s opinion, her husband drove her to it. Rumor had it the man beat her. “That’s not what I heard.”

But Daddy talked right over her. “Every man deserves a second chance.”

“Not with a precious child,” she cried, but he’d turned a deaf ear to her. What was Daddy thinking? She caught Gabriel’s attention and mouthed her plea for help.

“You’ve been preaching on forgiveness, Pastor,” Daddy continued, “on wiping the slate clean. Well, here we have a man who, thanks to us, has a second chance at a family. I say we give him that chance. Agreed?”

Felicity held her breath. If Gabriel were the man she knew him to be, he’d say no.

Gabriel shifted in his chair. Why was Kensington defending Coughlin? The two seemingly had no connection, yet Kensington was ready to break every rule to place a child with the man. It made no sense. Unless…what if the smugglers were using Coughlin’s land? Suppose Coughlin knew about Kensington’s role and was blackmailing him to get a child. Gabriel hated to think Kensington was so hardhearted that he’d place his own welfare above that of an orphan, but evil could worm deep into a man’s soul.

“Well?” Kensington prodded.

Gabriel looked to Felicity. Denying Coughlin his due would mean the secret of Kensington’s involvement with the
bootlegging ring would come out. Felicity would be crushed. The moment he’d been dreading had arrived.

Kensington growled, “You have a problem deciding, son?”

Gabriel cleared his throat. “Two parents are preferred.”

Felicity beamed at him, and his heart ached.

Kensington ratcheted up the pressure. “Let’s not exclude a deserving man based on circumstances beyond his control. I’m sure we all know widows or widowers who did a fine job raising children. Why look at Mrs. Simmons. She raised a son and daughter after her husband died, and we haven’t eliminated her from consideration.”

“True.” Gabriel couldn’t refute that. The Simmonses were amongst the kindest people in Pearlman.

“But Mr. Coughlin is hardly Mrs. Simmons,” Felicity insisted. “She is kind and respected. He is shiftless and cruel. I knew Benjamin. We can’t send an innocent child to live with Mr. Coughlin. We can’t.” She blinked rapidly, and her voice rasped with emotion.

Gabriel had never heard such passion from her. She would fight for those children with every ounce of strength. He hadn’t given her enough credit. Mariah was right. Felicity did belong on the committee, and she’d just made his decision much easier.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Kensington. I must stand for what is right for the children.” He placed Coughlin’s application on the rejection pile. “Mr. Coughlin simply doesn’t meet the basic requirements of the program.”

Kensington leaned back, his jaw tight and his gaze narrow. “That’s your final decision?”

Gabriel nodded.

Kensington worked his jaw. “I’m disappointed, son. I thought you were a man who practiced what he preached. Apparently I was wrong. Unless you’re willing to change
your mind.” His finger twitched like it was on the trigger of a gun.

Gabriel saw his career fall dead to the ground. Mrs. Grattan said Kensington voted to retain him. The next vote would come out differently, and he’d be gone, his ministry and his hope of a life with Felicity in ruins—all for doing what was right.

He could change his mind and accept Kensington’s offer. He could sell his soul for the chance to spend a lifetime with the woman who dominated his thoughts and dreams. Kensington expected him to capitulate, but Gabriel Meeks was not in the soul-selling business.

He looked to heaven for assurance and saw the plate glass window, the one Mrs. Kensington planned to replace. Wrong was wrong. That first day, he’d told Kensington that he answered only to God. Well, nothing had changed.

“My decision stands.” Gabriel wrote REJECTED across the front of Coughlin’s application, and Felicity clapped with joy.

Little did she realize what he’d just signed away.

“What do you mean you gave up your ministry?” Mariah stopped stirring the stew and fixed her attention entirely on Gabriel.