Smiling with happiness, Camille carefully walked along the wet boards of the sidewalk until she turned up the cross street. She slogged through the mud, at times wondering if it would pull the overshoes right off her feet. The umbrella protected her head and shoulders, but water ran off the lower half of her coat. When she reached Nola’s, she walked around to the back of the house, thankful for the covered porch that wrapped around it.
Nola threw open the door. “Lord have mercy, what a day. Use that hook there by the window to hang up your coat. Best for it to do its dripping out here.”
“I’ll say. I’m thankful I had it.” Camille set her bag on a chair and propped the open umbrella in the corner so it could dry. Then she laid her gloves on a little table against the wall. Taking off her coat, she hung it up, staring briefly at the water streaming off of it. Sitting down in a chair by the back door, she pulled off her overshoes and left them on the porch. Gathering up her gloves and bag, she went inside.
“I have a nice pot of tea all made.”
“Good. I’m cold and thirsty. Let me run my hat and gloves upstairs, then I’ll be right down to help.”
“No rush. The soup and cornbread will stay warm.”
“It smells wonderful.” Camille hurried up the stairs, placing her things in her room. She took the Bible from her bag, relieved to see that it hadn’t gotten wet. Checking her reflection in the mirror, she smoothed her hair and adjusted a few pins before going back down to the kitchen.
Nola was ladling the soup into bowls. “The cornbread is on the warming shelf. If you want to set it on the table, then get these bowls, we’ll be all set to eat.”
When everything was ready, Camille paused while Nola sat down, then joined her at the table. She had already learned that her landlady said grace at every meal. Bowing her head, she folded her hands in her lap.
“Heavenly Father, we thank You for this food that You provided. We thank You for the rain, too, but You’ve already provided enough. You can turn off the spigot anytime. Please protect folks who live near the streams and creeks and anyone working out in the storm. In Jesus’ name, amen.”
“Amen,” whispered Camille.
“So what’s going on in town?” Nola buttered a piece of cornbread and took a bite.
“Nothing. There was hardly anyone there besides the shopkeepers. Ty didn’t have a single customer.”
Nola’s eyes began to twinkle. “So did you visit a spell and keep him company?”
“I did.” Camille took a spoonful of soup. “This tastes as good as it smells. Is it hard to make?”
“Nope. I’ll have Hester show you next time. Just chop a few vegetables and throw them in with some chicken and water and let it simmer all morning. I often tell her to make soup on Saturday, so she can leave early. What is our illustrious mayor up to? Had any more run-ins with Miller?”
“None that he mentioned. Ty, Cade and Red Mulhany are making plans to build an opera house.”
“It’s about time. Should have started on that a year or two ago.”
“Ty showed me some preliminary drawings, merely idea sketches. They appear to have thought things through. I’m going to put some money into it.”
“Better make sure you have a say, too. I like that. Those men need a woman’s input on this.”
Camille paused to eat some cornbread. “Maybe Hester can show me how to make this, too.”
“She could. Or I will, since I made this batch. It’s easier than the soup, as long as you don’t leave it in the oven too long.”
“Well, either it’s the best cornbread I’ve ever eaten, or I was starving.” She grinned and dipped a corner of the bread into the soup. “Probably both.”
She told Nola all about the opera house and listened to a few ideas the older lady had. She made a mental note to pass the information on to Ty. When they finished eating, she cleaned up the kitchen while Nola retired to her room for a nap. She didn’t think it would be a good idea to leave the dirty dishes until Monday morning.
Camille went upstairs to her room. The night before, she had scooted the rocking chair over closer to the stovepipe which ran up one wall. It wouldn’t be warm enough to stay very long, but it would do until she read the verses Ty had noted. Sitting down, she tipped the Bible toward the window to use the gray light coming through the panes and read his inscription again. She traced a fingertip over the words.
“He has beautiful handwriting. My friend,” she whispered. It would be so easy to let him become something more. “Foolish and impossible.” But it was equally impossible not to dream.
She checked the table of contents and found the page number for Psalms. Turning to it, she quickly found chapter twenty-five and began quietly to read out loud.
Unto Thee, O Lord, do I lift up my soul. O my God, I trust in Thee: let me not be ashamed, let not mine enemies triumph over me. Yea, let none that wait on Thee be ashamed: let them be ashamed which transgress without cause. Shew me Thy ways, O Lord; teach me Thy paths. Lead me in Thy truth and teach me: for Thou art the God of my salvation; on Thee do I wait all the day. Remember, O Lord, Thy tender mercies and Thy loving-kindnesses; for they have been ever of old.
She had once asked Ty how to pray. He’d said he simply talked to God. Depending on how he was feeling, sometimes he prayed with great reverence. Other times he talked to God as if he were talking to his dearest friend—which he probably was. The verses Ty had given her were a prayer from whoever wrote them. She knew he intended them to be her prayer, too.
Camille considered the words of the psalm. If she said them as a prayer, she had to mean it. She had to have an open heart and an open mind. She looked out the window, watching the rain slide down the glass and thought of how Bonnie had changed since she’d left San Antonio. Though her friend didn’t have all the answers, especially where Nate and his business were concerned, she seemed happier than she ever had, more at peace with herself and life.
Camille believed in God. She supposed she always had. She didn’t know much about Jesus, but she was willing to learn. The real issue was whether or not she was willing to trust God and believe that He would show her His truth.
Taking a deep breath, she turned her gaze back to the scriptures, silently reading them as a prayer, until she came to verse four. “Shew me Thy ways, O Lord; teach me Thy paths,” she said softly. Surprised by the yearning in her heart, she stopped, considering the unexpected depth of feeling. “Lead me in Thy truth, and teach me: for Thou art the God of my salvation; on Thee do I wait all the day,” she whispered.
She finished verse six in silence, then went on to verse seven, even though Ty hadn’t included it. “Remember not the sins of my youth nor my transgressions…” Her voice cracked and she drew a harsh breath.
Harlot! The preacher’s shout and pointed finger of so many years ago burned through her soul.
Pain and shame filled her heart. Tears blurred her vision, but she continued reading softly, stopping at the end of verse eight. “…according to Thy mercy remember Thou me for Thy goodness’ sake, O Lord. Good and upright is the Lord: therefore will He teach sinners in the way.”
She sat quietly rocking for a few minutes, contemplating the things she had read. “Lord, I don’t know much about You, but I want to learn. You know I’m a sinner, so I have to depend on You to teach me the way.”
The chill in the room sent her downstairs where she spent the next few hours reading her new Bible. She read about half of John, then went back to the Psalms, skipping around, reading the chapters that caught her eye. Thumbing through the pages, she found the book of Proverbs.
That’s where she was when Nola joined her in the living room by the fire. The older lady cast a knowing eye at the book in her hand and smiled. “A good pastime for such a dreary day.”
“It’s interesting.” Camille hesitated, then decided that if Nola wanted to discuss the scriptures with her, she would quickly figure out that Camille knew little about them. “My parents weren’t much for going to church. Last Sunday was the first time I’ve been in years.”
“Better to start late than never go at all.” Nola sat down in her favorite chair, picking up her own well-worn Bible. “Where are you reading?”
“John. And Psalms. Some of Proverbs, too.” She stopped, wondering if Nola would think she was silly for jumping around so.
“I like to read the Psalms, too, even if I’m studying another book. They have a way of expressing a lot of the emotions we all feel at one time or another.”
“The first verse of Proverbs says that Solomon was David’s son. Is he the same David who wrote some of the Psalms?” Camille caught her lower lip between her teeth. Now Nola would realize how ignorant she was.
If her question came as a surprise, Nola didn’t show it. “Yes. He was a king of Israel hundreds of years before Jesus’ time. Did you ever hear the story of David and Goliath?”
“I think so. Goliath was a giant that David killed with a sling-shot?”
“That’s right.”
“My mother read the story to me when I was little. I remember because it was right before the war. She said the Confederacy was like David, and Lincoln and the United States were like Goliath. She believed God would make the South victorious.”
“Most of us like to think that God is on our side in a conflict. I reckon sometimes He’s the only one who truly knows who should win.” Nola tilted her head, studying Camille’s Bible. “That looks brand-spankin’ new.”
“Ty gave it to me. I was going to buy it, but he insisted on making it a present.”
“Sounds like him. He has a generous soul, that boy.”
“Yes, he does.” And a kind heart, integrity, loyalty, a sense of humor and ruggedly handsome looks.
No wonder he was slipping past the barriers protecting her heart.