Chapter Thirteen

Sunday night services were continuing to draw large crowds. Twenty minutes before the sermon that night, latecomers had to search for an empty seat. Loggers from Tin Cup, Pine Ridge, and Cutter’s Pass filled the back pews. June’s work in front of The Gilded Hen had finally borne fruit. Familiar faces were popping up.

No matter how many times the congregation heard Reverend Inman preach, each service hummed with anticipation. Whether he condemned sin, warned of the consequences of straying from God, or admonished the worshipers to seek God’s guidance in every decision, people were ready to listen, to examine their heart for shortcomings.

Tonight Reverend Inman’s message was on the Christian walk: What did God expect of his children? June listened attentively, wondering if Reverend Inman ever listened to his own message. If so, how could he fail to see the catastrophic need less than two miles from his own back door?

After services June counted the offering and entered the total in the ledger. Moments later she let herself out of the tent, closing the flap behind her.

Someone stepped from the shadows, and her heart flew to her throat.

“Don’t be frightened. It’s Parker. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Parker!” She drew a steady breath, trying to get her bearings. “What are you doing here this late?”

“Waiting for you.”

He stood in the half shadows. Pale moonlight bathed his face, throwing his strong features into relief. His coat was open, revealing a blue chambray shirt open at the neck. Her pulse tripped erratically. She self-consciously smoothed her skirt. “Is something wrong?”

“No—I just wanted to see you.”

Her heartbeat quickened. “You did?”

He smiled, stepping into the light. “If you have no objections.”

“No—no objections.” She couldn’t think of a single one, even if she tried.

“I heard you’d moved into the orphanage. I thought I might give you a ride home. And what with all the commotion of moving, I wasn’t sure you had eaten a proper supper. So I packed us a picnic.”

She frowned. “A picnic?” Was he serious? A picnic? At ten o’clock at night? In a million years she’d never have thought of him asking her to go on a moonlit picnic!

“Yeah—I hear you can work up a powerful appetite chasing little tykes around.”

She bit back a grin. This was an impetuous side of Parker. He was full of surprises. “Well, they sure can wear a body out.”

“Then let’s let you relax some.”

Parker drew her in front of him, his hand warm in the middle of her back as he guided her toward a waiting buggy. Lifting her into the carriage, he stepped in behind her as she settled her skirts.

“Comfortable?”

“Very—thank you.”

“Are you warm? Nights can still be pretty chilly.”

“I’m fine.” She leaned close, her face only inches from his now, playfully whispering, “Now, will you stop fussing over me, and let’s see what you’ve got in that picnic basket.”

He quirked a brow. “Getting pretty sassy, aren’t you?”

She grinned. “Sassy and stubborn. That’s me!”

Flipping the reins, Parker set the buggy in motion. She longed to ask what had brought about his sudden good humor, but she didn’t want to break the spell. Whatever it was, it was fine with her.

Moonlight washed the landscape, the pines casting gentle shadows across the road as the horse trotted by the river. It was a perfect summer night. Stars overhead, a cool breeze. “It’s beautiful,” June said softly.

“Yes, it is.”

“Have you lived in Seattle all your life?”

“Not yet,” he confided with a wink. “But I was born not far away.”

She shivered against the cool breeze, and he leaned closer, drawing her into the warmth of his arm. She looked up at him, surprised, afraid to move for fear he would abandon the idea.

“Is this better?”

She smiled, snuggling closer. “Much better.”

“I could drive you straight home to the orphanage, but I was thinking that perhaps you might want to see a spot that Eli and I often enjoyed. It’s here by the river. If you’re not too tired.”

She didn’t feel the least bit tired. “The river?”

“Yes, Eli and I used to go fishing here.” A mischievous gleam showed in his eyes. “How would you like to try your hand at fishing?”

“Fishing?” The man was still full of surprises!

“Yeah—I hear they’re biting.”

“Nothing I like better than fresh panfish.”

“Then let’s go catch some.”

Twenty minutes later Parker stopped the carriage beneath a bare oak and lifted June out of the buggy. Taking a feed bag from beneath the seat, he slipped it over the horse’s head.

June wandered down a small incline, following the sound of running water. Moonlight played on the gurgling stream, making pretty diamond-shaped patterns on the water.

“I brought something to sit on,” Parker said when he joined her. He spread a heavy blanket on the ground and set a basket at one corner.

“What’s in the basket?”

“Supper.” He grinned. “In case you’re a bad fisherman.”

She suddenly felt flirtatious, lighthearted. “Is that a challenge?”

“Didn’t your papa warn you not to wager?”

She laughed. “Yes, I do believe he mentioned that one or a hundred times.”

Parker handed her a baited fishing pole. “I can even be persuaded to bait this for you.”

“Such a gentleman,” she teased, but thankful for the offer. The thought of threading a hook through a worm’s entrails didn’t excite her.

Sitting down on the blanket, she watched the cork on her fishing line bob in the water. Fishing had never interested her. Long hours spent waiting for a poor fish to bite seemed a waste of precious time. She would rather talk—have Parker tell her about himself.

They sat side by side, sharing a quiet camaraderie. For the first time in a long while she felt at peace.

This new side of Parker was nearly as disconcerting as it was pleasant. In her wildest fantasies she would never have imagined this man capable of planning a lovely late-night picnic by the river.

They’d argued about Reverend Inman’s plans, disagreed over his motivation, mourned Eli’s passing. She had alternately been angry with him—accused him of having a blind spot when it came to Reverend Inman—and had been drawn to his strength, to his dedication to Eli, to his ability to keep a hundred or more lumberjacks in line with a mere evenly modulated command.

One side of Parker she hadn’t experienced was fishing with him. And now, here she was, pole in hand, wondering what she was doing here.

“Hungry?”

She hadn’t thought so, but, yes, she was hungry. “Yes. What did you bring that’s good to eat?”

Parker opened the hamper and set out a tin of soda crackers, a wedge of cheese, and a plate of what looked to be oatmeal cookies. Very dry oatmeal cookies.

“I packed it myself.”

Somehow she managed to seem properly impressed. “It looks very—dry.”

He produced a pottery carafe. “Fresh water,” he said. And a second—“Coffee, in case you get cold.”

Handing her a wedge of cheese, he bit into a cracker. “Go ahead—taste it.”

She took an experimental bite and was surprised to find the cheese exceptionally good. “Very tasty.”

He cut off another slice and handed it to her. She smiled, shifting it to the other hand. A two-fisted eater. That was sure to make an impression on him.

They ate in silence, sitting opposite one another on the blanket. This was such a different Parker, a side she found extremely attractive.

A side she could learn to love.

Love. A small word that held such enormous implications.

“This is very nice,” she commented, reaching for a cookie. She bit into it, watching her cork bob up and down on the rippling water.

“This was Eli’s favorite fishing hole.”

She took another bite of cookie, looking at him from the corner of her eye. He was lost in memory, thinking back to a simpler time. Lying back on the blanket, she gazed at the sky. It was such a lovely night—millions of stars overhead. Warm enough, despite the brisk breeze. Was Eli watching? Hello, Eli. You were right. Your friend is nice—very nice.

“How did you meet Eli?”

Parker laughed, a masculine rumble coming from deep inside his chest, and she thought how comfortable she was with the sound.

“I nearly ran him down.”

“You what?”

“I was driving a wagon back into town. Eli was walking along the road, head down, deep in thought. As the wagon approached him from behind, he stepped out as if he were going to cross the road. I thought there was no way I could keep from running him down.”

“Did you?”

“No—he stepped back in time. We laughed about it later, but it could have been serious. Dead serious.”

June smiled. “God at work again.”

“That’s what Eli said, and I couldn’t argue it. He came to work for me a few days later.”

“So how did you two become such good friends?” she asked.

“Eli had a bad accident—nearly severed a limb. But again, God led us to a doctor who was developing new methods in that field of medicine. I visited him often in the long weeks during his recuperation, and we became close friends. During his recovery, Eli began attending Isaac’s meetings and caught his vision. Since he could no longer work in the logging camp, he felt called to join Isaac’s staff.

“He told me about his work with Isaac, what he wanted to accomplish. I didn’t agree, but we agreed to disagree. We spent our spare time together, talked hours about God, about God’s work, about faith. I found Eli to be a man of great faith, and I wanted to have his sense of assurance, his absolute belief that God was at work in his life and in the lives of others. Even mine.”

“You doubted that?”

“Sometimes,” he admitted. He gazed at the gurgling stream. “Often. I suppose you don’t?”

“Oh yes, I do. Not my faith, but whether I’m following God’s direction and not my own.”

“And you worry about that?”

“Sometimes. I think sometimes I’m not doubting God but myself, my ability to discern his direction.”

“I think we all worry about that.” He drew his line in and rebaited his hook. “I miss Eli.”

“So do I.” She sat up, resting her chin on her drawn knees. “Sometimes I want so badly to talk to him again, ask him why things happen the way they do. I know it’s silly, but I talk aloud—just as if he were here. I knew him so briefly, yet when he died, I felt as if I had lost my husband.”

“Yeah—I find myself talking to him every now and then, too. Isaac’s name usually comes up.”

“Parker.” She frowned. “You really are wrong about Reverend Inman. He’s dedicated but . . . granted, maybe to the wrong thing.”

He made a disagreeable grumbling sound in his throat, and she changed the subject. “Let’s talk about Sam. I wish I could be as certain about what I’m doing as Sam is. As soon as she learned of the need at the orphanage, she knew immediately that was where she belonged.”

“You aren’t sure what you’re doing is right?”

“I know it’s right, that I’m filling an important need. I just wonder if that’s why I was brought here. Eli is dead, so God must intend me for another purpose.”

“Well, maybe the orphanage is it.”

“Maybe—but still, it seems like there’s more.”

He grinned. “I don’t see you being unsure about anything. Seems to me you know your mind real well.”

She made a playful face at him. “Don’t tell anyone, but most of the time I haven’t a clue what I’m doing. I just go by that small, still voice that says, ‘Do something, June, until you can figure out what you’re doing.’ But Sam needs help, and I’m it for right now.”

June lifted her pole to check if a clever fish had stolen her bait. “I don’t like it when I’m uncertain. My papa was a preacher. A good one. A pulpit-pounding, hellfire-and-damnation preacher who never wavered. He made me believe that once your course is set you never stray from it. I set my course for Eli, then his dream . . . and now it seems like maybe I should stray from that. I’m not sure how it all fits together—Eli, the tabernacle, and the orphanage.”

“How did you meet Sam?”

“On the ship. We were excited to discover we were both coming to Seattle.” She set her pole aside. “Strange, isn’t it, that both of us were drawn here by outside forces? Her aunt and Eli. Now they’re both gone.” She sighed. “But Sam has Simon now.”

“Simon’s in love. He’s a man of few words, but he’s off the deep end with Sam. I wouldn’t be surprised if he leaves me and goes to work at the orphanage.”

June sighed, rather liking the thought that love changed lives. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“For Sam maybe—not for me. Simon’s my right hand, but if he wants more time at the orphanage, I can arrange it.”

June debated whether to ask her next question. But since they were being so candid . . . “Do you suppose this was God’s plan all along? Bringing Sam here so she could meet Simon?”

“Do you think your coming here was his plan?”

She glanced away. “What do you think?”

“I think that remains to be seen.” He playfully wedged a cracker into her mouth.

Biting into the crisp texture, she mused, “I truly do worry about the orphans’ welfare. Sam can’t keep them forever.”

If Sam had her way, she’d keep them together, but if she and Simon decided to marry, the care and custody of all those children would be too much for a young married couple. She couldn’t stay on at the orphanage—the couple would need their privacy. And Simon would have to keep working, to provide food for his family. In spite of what Sam might say, or even Simon, they couldn’t be expected to assume such responsibility for the orphanage.

If she could, June would open a new orphanage and work even harder to convince Reverend Inman and others in the community to support her work.

She longed to talk to Faith about the matter. She smiled when she thought about her sister. She’d just received a letter from Faith, who had not failed to mention the number of eligible young men in the community—men of faith, upstanding men, with solid jobs in stores and banks or who owned their own businesses. Gentlemen. Potential husbands, June read between the lines.

The idea of visiting Faith tempted her. Sometimes she thought she should go—pour out her problems and have a good cry. But then she’d look at Parker, and Sam and the orphans, and she wasn’t so ready to go.

“This is very nice. I’m glad you thought of it.”

“It’s been a long time since I enjoyed a pretty woman’s company.” He turned to look at her. Moonlight softened his features. “Thank you for remembering my birthday.”

She reached over and laid her hand over his. “You don’t have to thank me. No—actually, you should be grateful,” she amended. “The hand warmers could have been a necklace.” She grinned.

Sobering, she gazed at him, refusing to look away. Leaning closer, he kissed her lightly, and it seemed as natural as rain.

“Thank you for the picnic,” she murmured.

“Thank you for the hand warmers.” He kissed her again softly, on the nose, then on her forehead. “Can I tell you something?”

“Anything.”

“You’re a lousy fisherman.”

She swatted him on the shoulder. “I know. Why do you think I avoid it like the plague?”

How could it be that just a short time ago she had thought this wonderful, perceptive man was such an oaf?

Sam had left a light burning in the front window of the orphanage. When the buggy rolled to a stop, it was very late.

“Thank you for sharing your supper with me.”

When Parker didn’t immediately respond, June reached over, turning his face to meet hers. He looked at her, and she had the feeling that he was trying to decide what to think about her. But apparently he couldn’t decide.

Brushing the backs of his fingers against her cheek, he smiled. “You may not fish worth a hoot, but you’re good company.” His gaze softened. “Thank you for having supper with me.”

Looking into his eyes, June felt a sense of rightness—that Parker was her destiny, even if he didn’t know it yet.