14

The church sparkled in the bright sunlight. Rachel imagined the steeple as an arrow that would carry the praises and worship of the people through the deep blue sky to heaven. She stood at the wide double doors waiting, watching, a white lace shawl over her favorite cornflower blue dress. A few people greeted her. Most ignored her, clustering in small groups near the wagons, at the foot of the stairs, and on the porch that fronted the building, or moving past her without acknowledgment to find a pew.

Rachel sighed, wishing she had more friends but still relishing the joy of being here in God’s house. Sundays in Riverbend were so far removed from the life she’d lived for so many years. She loved the way people used the Sunday service as the mark of a true day of rest. For many of the families, Sunday meant visiting with neighbors, a break from the toil of life. Many spent the whole day at the church. Picnics broke out, children played, men talked politics and the weather and crops and livestock. Women cooked over open fires and talked about children and recipes and the foibles of husbands.

And she was part of it—part of the family, even if she often felt like the immoral relative nobody knew quite what to do with. But things were definitely better now than six months ago, when she’d walked into her first service. Then Rachel had almost felt her sin radiating from her, offending these upstanding citizens. Women had glared or turned away. From the men there had been glances of curiosity, plus a few lustful leers. Martha’s hand on her elbow had propelled her forward to the front pew, where she sat with the Matthews family and kept her head down, reminding herself again and again that no matter what anyone else thought, God had forgiven her.

That Sunday, Pastor Luke had preached on forgiveness and second chances. She’d resisted the urge to turn around to see the congregation’s reaction. After the service, four people had come up and welcomed her to Riverbend Church—Annabelle Stewart, Vernon and Esther Phelps, and their nephew, Alexander. The ice-cold looks from others still burned in her memory.

The next Sunday, Pastor Luke preached on the woman caught in adultery. That’s when the Barkstons introduced themselves.

The third Sunday, he preached on Mary Magdalene, and Isaac Walters and his wife invited her to Sunday dinner.

Since then, she’d made a few more friends, and most of the congregation had come to treat her with polite tolerance. Only a few still watched her with attitudes of disdain or worse. And in time, she knew, she’d win them over. They’d see she was a new woman.

She glanced down the street once more. Michael Archer walked toward her in a long-limbed stride. Her heart beat faster. She felt her face crease into a smile that, she suspected, made her look like a gawky schoolgirl with her first crush. She walked down the steps, holding herself back from running. Why am I acting like this? He’s just another man.

She touched her hand where he had kissed it. Because he might be different from the others. She noticed his pace had quickened.

“Good morning, Michael.” She extended her hand.

He took it and squeezed it firmly. “Good to see you this morning, Rachel.” His voice caressed her ears like soft music drifting through a window on a warm summer night.

He released her hand, and they turned to enter the church. She enjoyed the warm pressure of his hand under her elbow as they climbed the steps. Rachel introduced him to Annabelle and the Phelpses as they made their way down the aisle to the first pew, where she took her seat with Martha and the children. Michael sat next to her.

She felt comfortable, safe, protected. Was this how it felt to have a normal relationship with a man? Would such a thing be possible for her?

Would Michael even want to know her after he found out about her past?

She wanted to reach out and take his arm, but she didn’t want to seem forward. Having him beside her in church seemed perfectly natural. It was enough for now.

Sunlight streamed through clear glass windows, filling the sanctuary. Dazzling light danced off the white walls and the dark wood of the pews and pulpit. Pastor Luke took his place in the pulpit and opened his Bible. He flipped through the pages, patted his coat pockets.

Martha leaned toward Rachel and whispered, “He forgot his notes. Again.”

“Martha, will you lead the people in ‘Behold the Amazing Gift of Love’? I’ll be right back.” He dashed out the side door that connected to the parsonage.

After the song, while Luke was preaching, Rachel looked at Michael out of the corner of her eye. In profile, she saw strength in the straight nose and firm chin. She wanted to turn and look at him full on, to study and observe him, to drink in every feature. She didn’t know what to do with her hands. And she certainly hoped Pastor Luke wouldn’t ask her about the sermon, because she hadn’t heard a word.

As they stood to leave, Michael almost bumped into a large man in the aisle. He started to apologize, but Rachel said, “Good morning, Mr. Barkston, Mrs. Barkston. Let me introduce you to Michael Archer. He’s visiting us for a short while. Michael, this is Bill and Sally Barkston.”

Michael shook the burly man’s hand, feeling a firm grip and hard calluses on a hand that almost swallowed his own. He greeted Mrs. Barkston, a tall, slender woman, gray-haired like her husband. Crow’s-feet radiated from her brown eyes. Bill Barkston stood several inches taller than Michael, larger and wider, well-muscled. Blond strands wove through his otherwise-gray hair. A widow’s peak pointed like an arrow over the edge of his forehead. His pale blue eyes bored into Michael’s.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,” Michael said. “You too, ma’am.”

“Same here.”

But Michael got the distinct impression that neither Barkston found any pleasure in his company.

Mrs. Barkston’s voice was high and reedy. “I’m so sorry our Jeffrey couldn’t be here this morning. Two of the horses are foaling, and he needed to be there for the delivery. But he expects to come to tonight’s service, and he wanted me to tell you he’ll see you then.”

“I’ll be here,” she said. “I hope all goes well with the horses.”

“I’m sure it will. I know he’s looking forward to seeing you.”

The couple walked away. Rachel took Michael’s arm as they walked down the aisle. “I should apologize to you. They are really a sweet couple, but I don’t think they’re too happy to see you.”

“Why not?”

“They’re convinced Jeffrey and I should get married, the sooner the better.”

“And how do you feel about that?” Did his voice reflect the jealousy and insecurity constricting his heart?

“It’s something they want but Jeffrey and I don’t,” she said, her voice low. “We get along, but we know we’re not meant to be together. Jeffrey needs a woman who likes farm life as much as he does. And I . . .” She shrugged and didn’t finish the sentence.

“Do they know how you and Jeffrey feel?”

“Oh yes. Even Pastor Luke has talked to them about it, without much success. They still think they can make it happen.”

When they reached the door of the church, Michael turned toward her. “Are you free this afternoon? Would you like to go for a ride in the country? I’ll rent a buggy.”

She hesitated, and his heart sank. Then she turned and broke into a sunny smile. “I’m free, but don’t bother with the buggy. I have a horse. I can fix a picnic lunch to bring with us. I know a beautiful spot upriver.”

“I’ll meet you at the parsonage, then—say, in about an hour?”

“I’ll be ready for you.”

Sally Barkston turned from talking with Pastor Luke and walked over to Rachel and Michael. Focusing on Rachel, she said, “We’d like to invite you to join us for supper tonight at the hotel before the service. We could meet about five. Jeffrey should be here by then.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Barkston. But I won’t be able to make it.” She stepped closer to Michael. “I already have plans for this afternoon. I do appreciate the offer.”

Sally bit her lip. “All right, then, I guess we’ll have to wait to see you until tonight.” She shot Michael a quick, darting look and returned to her husband. They walked away, their heads in close conversation, occasionally glancing over their shoulders at Michael and Rachel.

“Well, they are persistent,” Michael said.

“Yes, they are. I pray they’ll be able to accept the inevitable without too much hurt or offense.”

When they reached the ground, Michael tipped his hat. “I’ll see you in an hour.”

“I’ll be ready.”