Cora smoothed down the skirt of her brown twill suit, picking off a piece of lint. She straightened the fork on the plate of pie and hustled to the kitchen to make sure the coffee was ready. She poured it and sipped. Much too strong. Bitterness bit her tongue. Ick. If only she had a knack for making coffee. Instead, she opened the back door and threw out the nasty brew. Time to start over.
No sooner did she set the pot on the stove than Len arrived. As she went to answer the door, she fanned her burning cheeks. It would do no good to have him see her flustered. “You made it.”
“I couldn’t resist the offer of pie.” The tie around his neck bobbed as he spoke.
“Oh. Well, come in. I have it ready for you. You’ll have to wait for the coffee, though.”
“Really, Cora, you didn’t have to bother for me. To thank you for your assistance, I’m the one who should bring you pie and coffee.”
She led him to the parlor where their desserts waited on a marble-topped tea table in the middle of the room. “You can make pie?” And, better yet, coffee?
“I’m sure it’s not as good as yours. And I don’t make it often.” He settled on one of the chairs.
“Let me get that coffee for you.” She scurried back to the kitchen where the pot bubbled on the back of the stove. In her haste to grab it and pour it, the towel slipped. Ouch. She put her burned index finger in her mouth. What was wrong with her? She needed to calm down before she made a fool of herself. She took a deep breath before returning to the parlor. “I hope you like it strong.”
“To get through all of these letters, it will have to be.” He tipped his head, a trace of a smile curving his lips.
She took her place, and they dug into the pie. “So, why did you choose to pastor in Detwiler?”
“Because they hired me.”
She craned forward. “That’s the only reason?”
“No. When I first came for the church board interview, I found this to be a charming little town. It reminded me of my hometown in Ohio. And the people were kind.”
“I’ve never been to Ohio.”
“It’s not much different than Iowa.” He swallowed his last bite of pie. “That was delicious. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I do have to make a confession.”
“I can assure you, it won’t go farther than this room.”
“But the entire town already knows this.”
He quirked an eyebrow.
“Oh, it’s nothing like that. I can’t bake. The chef at Pa’s hotel made it. I’m a horrible cook.”
He sipped his coffee, puckering his lips.
“And, I can’t make coffee either.”
“Thank the cook for excellent pie.”
Outspoken and can’t cook. What must he think of her?
“Shall we get going on these letters?” He grabbed a handful from the bag beside his chair.
She cleared the plates and cups and brought out pens, ink, and paper. “Before we start, can you remind me of Mr. Kimble’s requirements? I want to keep my eye out in case I spot a suitable woman.”
“A spotless reputation, a giving spirit, kind, and ready to run a household and raise seven children.”
“Well, that should be easy enough.”
Len’s lips quivered before he broke into full-out laughter. “Oh, and she must love Shakespeare.”
“That does narrow the field a bit.”
He slit open one of the letters and scanned it. “This young woman is only sixteen but has helped raise her five siblings.”
“Too young. We’ll tell her we don’t wish to take her from her responsibilities. Who’s next?”
He opened another piece of mail. “This woman believes that hard work, a firm hand, and a stiff rod are the best ways to bring up little ones. Find a way to turn her down.”
“Of course. Let me see.” She bit the end of the pen before dipping it in the ink well. “I’ll say that we’re afraid all of those children would be too taxing for her. What else do you have?”
“Ah, here’s a well-read young woman. She fancies Chaucer.” He peered over the paper at her.
“No, he said Shakespeare. We’ll have to tell her that, unfortunately, their taste in poets doesn’t agree.”
He sat back and crossed his arms. “But you love his plays and things. Perhaps you should write to Mr. Kimble.”
“Me? No, I couldn’t. I can’t cook, remember?” She laid the pen on the table before it slipped from her perspiring hands.
“We’ll never find the perfect woman with all the qualifications he seeks. Besides, you can learn.”
“’This above all: to thine own self be true.’”
“See what I mean?”
But she couldn’t.
She wouldn’t.
Really. What a preposterous idea.
Len leaned over the marble-topped table. Cora scripted the replies in her beautiful, teacher-perfect penmanship. “I’ve never seen anyone write so nicely.”
She nodded. “Thank you. Ma and Pa would have skinned my hide if I didn’t do my very best in school. Sums weren’t my specialty, but handwriting I could manage.”
“Much the same way Mr. Kimble wrote. Neat, evenly spaced.”
“I don’t know about that, but I appreciate the compliment. Now, who’s next?”
He ripped open another envelope. “Ah, here’s a gentleman wondering if none of the young ladies work out for Mr. Kimble, could I match him with one of them? He likes working with his hands, enjoys a hearty dinner and a clean house, and spends his evening smoking his pipe on his front porch.”
Cora studied the ceiling for the moment. “Perhaps we should put that one to the side. Maybe we need a separate pile for those who are interested in other matches and who might be good potential spouses.”
“A wise and practical solution, Miss Thomas.”
Just a little sparkle glimmered in her eyes. “Let’s see if we can find him a suitable helpmeet. Dig through that pile for a lavender envelope addressed in a lovely hand.”
He sat back and chuckled. “You’re teasing me.”
“No more than you teased me.”
“Fine. Just to prove you wrong, I’ll find the woman God intends for him.” He reached over and rifled through the bag, pulling out stacks of letters with each handful. Messy penmanship. He discarded it. Block lettering. Tossed that one aside. Misspelled words. Back into the bag it went.
“Aha.” He held up a pale pink envelope and crowed. “This is the one.”
“You haven’t even opened it.”
“I know she’s meant for him.” He withdrew the single sheet of paper and skimmed the contents. “See, I was right. She can pluck a chicken with the best of them and makes a fricassee that won an award at the county fair. She sews and knits and sings in the church choir. And, to top it off, sunset is her favorite time of the day. Write back to them and share their addresses with each other.”
She blinked a couple of times. “I thought you didn’t want to play matchmaker.”
“I don’t. But you challenged me to find him a wife, and I believe I have.” He crossed one leg over the other.
“We’ll see if this match works out. Don’t count this as a victory until they march down the aisle.”
They waded through scads more letters until darkness fell, consuming all the light except the small lamp in the middle of the table. Mrs. Thomas came from the kitchen and brought more coffee to keep them going. Several hours later, he rubbed his eyes and yawned. “I can’t take much more of this. Everything is blurring in front of my eyes.”
Cora flexed her fingers. “I can’t feel the pen in my hand anymore.” She had taken to writing the replies while he addressed the envelopes.
“It’s time to call it a night.”
“‘Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow.’”
They had almost made it through the evening without any Shakespeare quotes. He stifled a groan and forced himself to grin instead.
“Romeo and Juliet. Rather appropriate, seeing the number of couples we’re playing Cupid for.”
“Oh.”
“You really don’t care for Shakespeare.”
“Maybe one day, I’ll appreciate it.” Or maybe not.
“Read some of it. You might be surprised at how much you like his plays. They aren’t all romance, you know. There are plenty of sword fights and intrigues you might find interesting.”
He donned his hat. “Good night, Cora. Thank you again for your help. And the pie and coffee.”
“Maybe by the time we’re through all this correspondence, I’ll have learned to make a decent pot of it.”
All the way down the darkened main street of Detwiler, Len tried to keep his mind from the sweet, kind, and all-too-beautiful Cora Thomas. The task proved to be impossible.
Maybe he should take her suggestion under advisement. If nothing else, learning a little about Shakespeare would help him converse with her while they worked their way through the mountains of letters.
Or maybe Mr. Kimble was just the better fit for her.